


Selfless ~ Sherlock x OC

by OrganizedChaos666



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Sherlock - Freeform, Smut, Winchester - Freeform, mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-12-26 19:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrganizedChaos666/pseuds/OrganizedChaos666
Summary: Emily Midfell is an optimistic woman who happens to be sent by Mycroft Holmes to keep an eye on his so called sociopath brother. Unfortunately for Sherlock, she is not someone he can easily deduce.Mature for drug abuse (if you have seen the show you know)





	1. Lonely

"Mycroft I am not a babysitter," I groaned.

 

 

"You'll like him," Lestrade insisted.

 

 

"Not you too Lestrade, you said it yourself. The man's a psychopath."

 

"Sociopath," Mycroft muttered under his breath.

 

 

I sat and rubbed my temples, staring at the lease form sitting on the table before me. It was for 221C Baker Street. The two men before were practically begging me to move there, going so far as to offer to pay the rent for the first few months. It all seemed great until I realized who lived next door. It's not like I hated the men, there are very few people I hate. I have merely heard of the ruckus they cause on a weekly basis.

 

 

"You pay the rent?" I questioned defeated.

 

 

"For the first year," Mycroft agreed.

 

 

"Why?"

 

"He needs a friend," Lestrade chipped in.

 

 

"So you're paying off some poor girl to become friends with your brother? Wish I had a sibling like you," I laughed.

 

 

Holmes shrugged with a sheepish grin.

 

 

"I also need you to keep an eye on him."

 

 

So there it is. He needed a spy. With a sigh, I gripped the pen in my hand so tightly it nearly snapped before using it to scribble my signature onto the form. After all, I needed a change of scenery and police work always interested me. Most people thought I was too friendly to be part of any secret operations, making me perfect for the job.

 

 

"Perfect," Mycroft clapped, shooting me a smile.

 

 

"Don't sound so excited. You two practically cornered me," I huffed, knowing I had been manipulated.

 

 

The two men grinned and the air of the room grew stale.

 

 

"If you will excuse me, I have to pack," I said, pushing myself from the comfortable chair onto my feet.

 

 

"Already done," Mycroft informed.

 

 

"For gods sake man. Privacy!" I exclaimed, shooting a playful glare in the direction of the eldest Holmes brother.

 

 

"Instead, I will be bringing you to see your new place.-"

 

 

Mycroft's phone rang, interrupting him before I could. The smile he bore quickly melted into a scowl and his eyes lost their childish gleam. Something needed his attention and he did not fancy being interrupted. He hung up the phone and sent me an apologetic smile.

 

 

"Scratch that. Lestrade will take you."

 

 

"I will?"

 

 

"You will," Mycroft ordered.

 

 

And with that, the playful aura was gone. Unfortunately, Lestrade had been a little late on catching the memo which allowed him to be the target of his superior's annoyance. As Mycroft turned to leave, I grabbed him by the arm and held him in place. His eyes narrowed as my gaze met his own. With an innocent smile, I embraced him in a warm hug. It only took a moment for him to return it. I tended to have that effect on people.

 

 

"You know I hate when you leave like that," I mumbled, patting him on the back before giving him a light shove in the direction of the door.

 

 

He exited with a wave and a less murderous expression donning his features. I looked to Lestrade and hooked my arm with his playfully.

 

 

"Onward!" I cheered, dragging him outside to his car. Mycroft had picked me up in his own and apparently my vehicle resided at Baker Street so there wasn't much of a choice. We were on our way to my new home almost immediately, sending me into a slight panic.

 

 

"He isn't going to shoot me is he?" I asked Lestrade for the third time.

 

 

"NO. Sherlock Holmes will not shoot you. What makes you think that?"

 

 

"To be fair, his brother did and Sherlock is supposedly worse," I groaned.

 

 

Silence was his only response. How reassuring. As he drove, my thoughts only became worse.

 

 

"Will he experiment on me?"

 

 

Lestrade remained silent for a moment and had a thoughtful expression on his face. Great, I am going to die. Lord help me. I was so lost in my own mind that I did not notice when we finally stopped until Lestrade poked me.

 

 

"Time to go," I muttered, stepping out of the car and into the cool outside air. 

 

 

"Come with me?" I asked. 

 

 

"Nope," he responded, shooting me a grin before driving off so quickly that his tires screeched. 

 

 

I groaned in frustration but could not help but giggle at the way the two professional men acted so playful and childish around me. It was nice to be a friend to people. With a smile adorning my face, I raised my fist to knock on the wooden door before me. Before I made contact, the door swung open and my fist tapped against a chest. It was a tall man with curly dark hair and startling blue eyes. 

 

 

"Sherlock," I smiled, only to have the door nearly shut in my face.

 

 

"Rude," I added, shoving the door open and looking around for the landlady, Ms. Hudson.

 

 

Sherlock stood in between me and the door, inspecting me as one might inspect a crime scene. It wasn't long before he seemed to come to a conclusion.

 

 

"I see you think you know me Mr. Holmes. Would you care to share your findings?" I asked happily.

 

 

"My brother sent you. You drove here in Lestrade's car. You live alone but are quite the animal person as you have a pet cat, a dog, and a horse. Fairly social but also pretty boring. You work at a coffee shop- wait no. He would not have sent a barista. You work with my brother but happen to visit the coffee shop frequently. You are right handed and are currently in a relationship."

 

 

"Why did I move here?" I questioned.

 

 

"My brother sent you and you wanted a change of scenery."

 

 

"Nice," I smiled at him.

 

 

"Are you not impressed?" he asked, seeming baffled.

 

 

"You got some of it correct but still have yet to say anything relevant about my personality. By the way, the cat's not mine," I shrugged as Ms. Hudson entered the room.

 

 

Sherlock retreated to his room solemnly, seeming quite upset that he was not completely correct about me. In the meantime, I handed the contract to Ms. Hudson and headed up to my new room where I found my husky puppy, Echo, waiting for me. Apparently, Mycroft had convinced the landlady to allow my dog to stay here despite the rules against pets in the building. My belongings had already been unpacked an set up, from the fridge and table to my dresser and underwear drawer. Pervert. I flopped down on the couch and allowed Echo to curl up beside me as I pulled my phone from my back pocket and texted Mycroft.

 

 

Hope everything is going well. Thank you for 

getting everything set up and making sure

that Echo could stay

EM

 

 

The message sent and I was finally getting comfortable on the couch when Sherlock burst in, looking like an addict who needed a fix.

 

 

"What did I get wrong?" he questioned angrily, causing Echo to raise her head and growl in defiance.

 

 

I ran my hand over her back gently to calm her before grabbing her toy off of the floor and waving it in front of her nose, gaining her attention for a moment. Ultimately, her attention returned to the unfamiliar man before us. 

 

"Silly puppy. He isn't a danger," I said playfully, as though I was talking to a child.

 

 

"Tell me," he seethed.

 

 

As soon as I began to speak he shushed me.

 

 

"My brother sent you to look after me, that much is certain. You are single but haven't been for long," he said hopefully.

 

 

"I guess you could say that," I laughed, throwing Echo's toy across the room absent mindedly.

 

 

Echo ran after it happily and played alone in the corner of the room as Sherlock and I stared at each other. He seemed to ponder something for a moment before breaking the silence again.

 

 

"Selfless," he concluded.

 

 

I nodded in agreement before scanning the man before me.

 

 

"I assume you believe I am quite air headed, but may I make a deduction?" I asked carefully, gesturing for him to sit in the chair across from the couch.

 

 

He scoffed in response, looking quite arrogant as he took a seat. "Have at it," he laughed.

 

 

I looked over him once more for a moment. Arrogant, cocky, rude, and clever were the first things that came to mind. Despite his clean appearance, I noticed a small amount of rosin residue on his coat.

 

 

"Violinist. I would say former drug addict but I suppose one never truly stops being addicted. You have merely learned how to cope. You preferred shooting up over most others," I mused.

 

 

He nodded but looked quite unimpressed. 'What are you Sherlock Holmes?' I thought to myself before meeting his eyes with my own. 

 

 

"Ah.." I realized, sending Sherlock a sympathetic smile which caused him to return it with a questioning glance.

 

 

"Alone."


	2. Employed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily gets a call from her employer.

Sherlock had not visited in nearly a week, and had been actively avoiding me since the day I deduced him. His eyes had darkened nearly instantly and his attitude had changed entirely from only one word. The most accurate word to describe the clever detective. My deduction was correct, as despite the fact that he had John, Sherlock Homes was completely and agonizingly alone.

 

He was so human in his insistence on avoiding someone who knew what he was. My morning jog with Echo ended at the coffee shop, as it did most days. Echo was left outside as pets were not allowed in the cafe itself, but I always tied her where she was in my sight at all times. It wasn't long before my order was ready and in my hands. As I turned to leave and return to my dog, my eyes caught those of a familiar man. Sitting in a chair by the door, was Sherlock. He was watching me intensely, his head resting on his hand as he began to deduce. His childishness caused me to roll my eyes in amusement as I strolled past him.

 

"Bye Sherlock," I said cheerily, waving and heading out the door.

 

Echo yipped happily as I bent down to untie her from the post she had inconveniently wrapped her leash around in a knot. When I went to stand up, my eyes met a sign on the window that I had missed previously. It informed those who passed by that there was currently a job opening. Deciding to leave that for a later date, I spun on my heel and came face to face with Mycroft Holmes.

 

"Planning on applying for a job?" he pondered.

 

"Perhaps. Working part time for the Scotland Yard and at the asylum is not always the most pleasing of jobs," I responded.

 

He nodded in agreement and glanced through the window at Sherlock who was hunched over, staring at the ground. If I did not know any better, I would say he was moping.

 

"What did you say to him," he questioned, gesturing at his brother who's gaze shot up towards us.

 

"It was just a deduction, I didn't mean to get under his skin. I did not even think it was possible to get to him," I insisted, lowering my gaze.

 

The older Holmes brother sighed and nodded in response, leaning down to give Echo a light pat on the head as she lolled her tongue out in content.

 

"Care to join me for breakfast?" he offered, the shadow of a hopeful smile on his face.

 

I shook my head slowly, as I was not keen on eating while in the presence of others.

 

"As always," he mused, holding his arms out slightly in invitation.

 

I shrugged apologetically before grinning and jumping into his arms, pulling him into a tight hug. He gripped my back gently while clutching his umbrella, attempting to avoid dropping it onto the harsh pavement. For someone who seemed so heartless, Mycroft was very warm and welcoming. When we parted, the ice man had a slight smile on his face. My mouth nearly fell open in shock, but I forced it into a huge smile before waving to him. Behind him, I noticed Sherlock roll his eyes as though extremely annoyed before he stood up and began heading out the door.

 

"Bye Mycroft," I said cheerfully, turning on my heel and walking back in the direction of my flat.

 

"Goodbye Emily," he responded, trying his best to keep the instinctive coldness out of his tone.

 

I had not made it more than a block when Echo let out a low growl in warning, sending a small tremor up my spine. My feet fell softly upon the sidewalk as I lightened my steps in order to hear those of anyone behind me. The follower had long, even strides that fell upon the concrete nearly as lightly as my own. The light billowing of their clothing indicated that they may have been wearing a coat of some kind. As I rounded the next corner, I shot a quick glance behind me to see a familiar head of dark, curly hair.

 

"Sherlock?" I questioned, turning on my heel to face the man, Echo standing at my side boredly.

 

"So you and my brother are close," he stated.

 

"Wow. Good morning to you too Holmes. Yes, Mycroft and I have history," I sighed, slightly disappointed.

 

"You have not been called in to work in the past week, unempl-"

 

He stopped as my phone rang, piercing through the cool morning air. I retrieved it from my back pocket and noticed that it was Mr. Jones, my boss and the head of the nearby asylum. I shushed Sherlock and answered the call.

 

"One of your old patients is acting up again. I need you to come in immediately," he said quickly.

 

"Which one?" I asked.

 

"George Willis. It appears he is having more frequent 'episodes' and managed to send Olson to the hospital."

 

Olson was one of my classmates from high school, and Willis was a client from months ago who had taken nearly a year under my care to become anything less than dangerous.

 

"I'll be there soon," I promised, hanging up the phone and letting out a sigh.

 

"Your boss? You work at some sort of hospital," he started, holding a finger to his pursed lips in thought.

 

"A mental hospital," he finalized, searching my expression for any kind of reaction.

 

A small smile made its way onto my face as I looked up at the tall man in front of me.

 

"Correct. You are amazing, Sherlock," I said honestly, rubbing the top of Echo's head gently before turning on my heel and heading towards home.

 

"You do not have to be kind to me," he informed, causing me to glance back over my shoulder at him. 

 

Sherlock stood awkwardly in the cold morning air, seemingly baffled by the compliment he had received as though it was the first. The breeze caused the end of his coat to slightly flutter behind him, making him look like he was straight out of the scene of a movie.  

 

 

"I know, but honesty is in my nature."


	3. Drunken Mistakes (Nearly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SUICIDE, DRINKING, SEXUAL OCCURRENCES, MENTIONS OF SEX :P

My shoes tapped against the tiled floor of the asylum loudly, the sound echoing through the hall as I headed to my patient's room. He had been placed on lock down in one of the older rooms. When I reached the door, I took in a small breath of air and plastered a cheery smile on my face before using my card to unlock the door. 

 

"Good morning George," I greeted, swinging the heavy metal door inwards.

 

The clipboard fell from my hands and clattered on the tile loudly as I absorbed the sight before me. My patient was hanging from the ceiling light by a bed sheet with his neck snapped and his head at an unnatural angle. George's black hair fell over his pale face as wet strings and his eyes were permanently closed. This was one of the few rooms that had not been refurnished to avoid the possibility of incidents such as the one before me. Hopefully, I raised my hand up to his pale wrist and pressed to find a pulse, but there was none.

 

"Shit," I whispered, turning on my heel and shouting through the hospital.

 

"Jones!" I yelled, barging into his office breathlessly and pointing in the direction of the patient's room.

 

"Willis. Some dumbass put him in one of the older rooms," I wheezed.

 

The look on my face seemed to convey the rest as my boss stood to his full height, his blue eyes piercing through me like daggers. He called a few workers over the intercom and took off towards George's room with me close behind, my signature smile wiped off my face. When we reached the room, Jones let out a groan of anger at the sight. I looked anywhere but the body, unwilling to look at the dead face of my patient. My boss shot me a look of sympathy as a few more employees arrived, one fainting and the other calling the policeman we had on site.

 

"Em, you can go home. Just relax today, I'll found out who moved him to this room."

 

I nodded in silent thanks and headed out of the asylum quickly, my stomach threatening to empty itself of my breakfast. When I made it to my car, I realized that it was already 5 p.m. As the horror of the suicide continued to plague my thoughts, I chose to drive to the nearest bar. A drink was in my hand moments after I took a seat at the bar. My eyes scanned the room over the rim of my glass as I took a small sip, before closing as I downed the entire glass. The liquid burned for only a second before it was washed down by another glass. I was already slightly tipsy when the one and only Mycroft Holmes sat on the stool next to me, holding out another drink which I took and chugged greedily. 

 

"What brings you here, Em?" he questioned lightly, leaning his umbrella on the side of the counter.

 

I shot him a warning glare before turning back to the bartender to drown my sorrows in more alcohol. For the next hour, Mycroft sat beside me obediently, as though guarding me from the pigs that frequented such places. By the time the stress had been diminished, my wallet was nearly drained of cash. Despite only being a bit drunk, I began flirting with the gorgeous bartender who had been serving me. Mycroft then took me by the arm and gently led me out to his car with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, he was driving himself around. There was no limo driven by a personal chauffeur, so it was only the two of us in the vehicle. 

 

"Mycrooffttt," I hiccuped as he pulled out of the parking lot.

 

 

There was no response from the ice man as we headed to baker street. I anxiously poked at his side in an attempt to get his attention.

 

"What do you want?" he asked monotonously, his voice slightly wavering from the alcohol he too had consumed.

 

"You," I said confidently, the alcohol fueling my desire for anything but horror.

 

His eyes widened for a millisecond and his pupils dilated before he turned his gaze back to the road, shaking his head. His hands were clenched so tightly on the wheel that his knuckles began to turn right. Bravely, I placed my hand on his leg and let out an innocent giggle as a small sigh left his lips. Still, he would not look at me. 

 

"Mycroooftttt," I moaned gently, running my hand slowly up his leg and resting it at the top of his thigh.

 

I stared at his face proudly as he slowly lost control and looked at me.

 

"Em-" he started.

 

I held a finger to his mouth to shush him as we reached my flat. 

 

"Come inside?" I pouted, giving his growing erection a slight squeeze before exiting the vehicle.

 

My hips swayed as I walked, capturing the attention of the elder Holmes brother. At the moment I was too drunk to care who he was. I entered my flat and laid on my bed, my legs opened slightly. A grin crept its way onto my face as I heard the door open, followed by the rushed footsteps of Holmes. 

 

"What are you doing in her flat?" Sherlock's voice broke the silence and cut the footsteps short.

 

"I-" Mycroft attempted to explain but I assumed his appearance told everything that needed to be known.

 

'Get. out." Sherlock hissed, making me groan in annoyance.

 

The sound of a drunken Mycroft making his way down the stairs informed me of the man's departure. Sherlock himself slammed my door open, causing me to shoot up and nearly fall over. This was not the most oppurtune time to be drunk.

 

"Why did you do that?" I groaned, genuinely pissed that my distraction had been sent away by Sherlock.

 

"You're drunk," he said darkly, his tone dangerously low.

 

The man before me was breathing heavily and looked rather disheveled. He was dressed in typical sleep attire, loose pants and a shirt that looked like he had just thrown on. Unfortunately, the expression on his face was nearly murderous.

 

"Why so angry?" I hiccuped, leaning back against the wooden headboard of my bed. 

 

He shook his head slowly and brought his gaze up to meet my own hazed one.

 

"Sherlock I needed that," I sighed, tears threatening to escape as I remembered the lifeless body of George Willis.

 

The man let out a shaky sigh before walking towards me slowly, the way one might approach a cornered animal as I curled into a fetal position against my bed. Surprisingly, I was wrapped in a quick warm embrace. Drunken tears streamed down my face as he held me. 

 

"What happened at work today Emily?" he asked gently, his voice still as low as ever.

 

"Ask me tomorrow," I begged, my voice wavering as I wiggled out of the hug and sank down into my mattress, leaving Sherlock confused.

 

"Em-" he started, only to be cut short by a pleading glance from me.

 

Sherlock nodded curtly, his curls bouncing slightly as he did so. I giggled and pulled the blanket from under me. 

 

"Stay?" I asked drowsily, the alcohol finally sending me off into sleep.

 

My eyes were closed by the time he sank down into the mattress next to me. I could only imagine how confused the poor man was in the face of an emotional drunk woman, seeing as he knew nearly nothing about human nature. I was enveloped with a wave of heat when he pulled the blanket over us, but still felt cold. In a desperate search for warmth, I turned over and curled into Sherlock's side before letting out a sigh of content as the alcohol induced sleep overwhelmed me.


	4. Late Nights

The image of George plagued my dreams when the alcohol wore off and woke me from my originally peaceful sleep. My body was overcome with tremors as I tried to survey my surroundings in the dark bedroom, my head pounding mercilessly. The warmth emanating from the body next to me was the only thing that kept me from moving.

 

"Emily?" a groggy voice questioned from beside me, making me jump slightly.

 

"Sorry Sherlock," I whispered, rolling over to the other side of the bed.

 

An arm quickly snaked around my waist and pulled me back towards Sherlock roughly, evoking a screech and a slight feeling of panic from me.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding very awake for what was most likely around four in the morning.

 

I shook my head in response and buried my face into his bare chest before realizing he could not see me, so I mumbled a short response.

 

"I'm sure you can tell, Sherlock," I whispered. 

 

"Something happened at work today. You work in a mental hospital where strange and unsettling sights are common, so what is it that has you in a state of distress?"

 

"Some dumbass allowed my patient to be placed in a non secure room where he hung himself from the light fixture," I breathed out quickly.

 

Before the man could say a word, my phone rang from my nightstand. The ringtone was one I had not heard in some time, but it made me shoot up and snatch the phone instantly to answer.

 

"Abby, Sam and Dean need your help," the deep voice on the other end stated.

 

I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the headboard, giving Sherlock an apologetic look.

 

"Cas, it's 4am."

 

"I'm sorry," he said exhaustedly.

 

A grunt of pain came from his end as I opened my mouth to speak, making me rethink my words.

 

"Are you ok?"

 

The man ignored my question and took a deep breath before responding.

 

"Where are you?"

 

"I'm in England for God's sake Cas. The address is 221C Baker Street, what did the boys get themselves into this time?" I sighed. 

 

The call dropped and a man in a trench coat was standing at the foot of my bed, making Sherlock jump as I groaned.

 

"Cas we've been over this," I said as I flicked on the light, revealing a bloodied Cas swaying in the center of the room.

 

"Shit," I sighed, pushing off of the bed and onto my feet to support the angel.

 

"What the hell?" Sherlock asked, seemingly questioning his soberness.

 

"It's a long story," I said, grabbing Cas lightly by the shoulders and bringing him to the bathroom while Sherlock stared after us. 

 

"Shirt. Off," I ordered, sitting him down on the edge of the bathtub.

 

The angel did not seem to be lucid, and simply shrugged off his coat before staring blankly into the wall. Sighing, I tugged his bloody shirt off of him carefully before throwing it onto the floor. This revealed the many scratches and burns lining his torso as well as a deep wound in his stomach. All of which were the work of an angel blade, so mortal medicine would not do much to help him. Taking the angel's hand in my own, I tried to get his attention.

 

"Cas, you need to heal yourself."

 

The angel merely nodded and I moved his hand onto my shoulder and placed my forehead against his.

 

"Sherlock," I addressed the man who was standing rigid in the door frame.

 

"This is going to weaken me, please make sure he takes a shower afterwards," I said.

 

Sherlock tilted his head in confusion as Castiel whispered an apology before reaching out for my soul, making me cry out in pain. 

 

"Get away from her," Sherlock spat, taking a step forward only to be stopped in his tracks by a pleading look from me as darkness overtook my vision.

 

"I'm so sorry," were the last words I heard from Castiel as I fell unconscious.

 

When I woke up, I was greeted by the sight of Sherlock holding a gun to Castiel's head boredly. The angel was clean and dressed hilariously in an outfit of Sherlock's.

 

"Sherlock it's alright," I promised, rolling off of the bed and pulling a weary Cas to his feet.

 

"Oh don't pout, it wouldn't do anything to him anyways," I mused at Sherlock's annoyed expression.

 

The detective lowered the gun to his side and opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him.

 

"Monsters are real. Heaven, hell, purgatory are all real. The Men of Letters keep the supernatural population here low by killing anything and setting traps. Castiel here, happens to be an angel," I said slowly.

 

Without waiting for his reaction, I turned my attention back to Cas.

 

"Why the hell does it look like you went through a meat grinder made of angel blades? What did the boys get themselves into this time?" 

 

"We were taking out an active nest of vampires. A group of angels who still hold my faults against me have been tracking me and managed to find me while we were trying to destroy the nest. My brothers nearly killed me and the Winchesters got themselves captured by the time I dealt with them. More angels were on their way and I was too weak to fight. I told you I would only call if we were in serious danger," he responded lowly.

 

"You and the Winchesters are always in serious danger Cas."

 

My harsh statement left the angel looking crestfallen and the detective very confused. I took in a deep breath and grabbed the angel blade from under my bed along with a machete.

 

"It's alright, I haven't seen the boys in a while anyways. Let's go save their asses," I grinned a bit manically.

 

Castiel nodded, a bit wary of my optimism as he reached for my shoulder.

 

"Wait-" Sherlock yelled, grabbing my arm as Castiel zapped us to Sam and Dean.

 

Fortunately, most of the vampires were dead. Unfortunately, there were three armed angels standing above the Winchesters who sat tied to wooden beams. Sherlock had been brought into the fray with us, his eyes wide in shock as Cas dropped his angel blade from his sleeve into his hand.

 

"Hello boys," I smirked, raising the knife and charging at one of the angels as though to stab him, only to slice the rope holding Sam and retreat as he untied his brother.

 

"Sherlock what the hell," I groaned, realizing that the detective had managed to come with us into the heart of a soon to be battle.

 

An angel charged me as I was distracted, but Sherlock's expression warned me. I sidestepped the male angel and planted my blade in his back. I did not remove it until the flickering light stopped, signalling his death. Dean had come up from behind the second angel as Castiel fought the other, however; the Winchester was unarmed. Silently, I tossed the blade to Dean before pushing a bleeding Sam and confused Sherlock behind me protectively. When the angels were killed, Cas immediately zapped all of us back to my flat.

 

"Cas, if you are not aware, this is a rather small place to be sending all of us," I said, exasperation laced in my tone.

 

"Em," Sherlock warned, just as Sam fell against the wall in a bloody heap.

 

"Nice place you've got here. Looks like you made it out," Dean mused as Castiel healed his brother.

 

"I thought I did," I said coldly.

 

The silence was heavy, but was soon lifted when a smile broke across Dean's face.

 

"I missed you sis," he grinned, opening his arms which allowed me to embrace him in a rough hug. 

 

"I missed you guys too," I said as I pulled away to give Sam a gently hug as he swayed tiredly.

 

"You too Cas," I laughed, jumping into the angel's arms and catching him by surprise but he caught me and held me in the air for a moment before placing me on the ground.

 

"Look guys, it's been nice to see you but you all look and smell like death so kindly get out of my flat. Go back to the bunker and sleep," I ordered, nodding at Cas who zapped himself and the boys away before they could say anything.

 

"So..." I said nervously, turning to face Sherlock.

 

"I'm high," he said, rubbing his eyes and flopping onto the bed.

 

The detective screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to fall asleep, however; it was more likely that he ended up in his mind palace as his brain went into overdrive while trying to comprehend the existence of the supernatural. Cautiously, I changed my shirt and slid into the bed beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short crossover for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it but if you did not, don't worry because depending on my readers (YOU) there will be more, less, or no more mentions of Supernatural


	5. Scene of the Crime

The next day consisted of saying goodbye to Sherlock and a very long nap. I woke up to the door of 221B slamming shut and the sound of footsteps going up the stairs. Simultaneously, my phone buzzed on my nightstand. It was Sherlock. Unlocking it with a lazy swipe of my thumb, I read the message.

 

You free to come to a crime scene?

I could use your help.

-SH

 

A knock on my door made me leap to my feet before tripping over my blanket and collapsing onto the floor. Echo immediately took advantage of the situation and licked my face furiously before barking at the door.

 

"You alright?" Sherlock's voice asked.

 

I only groaned in response as the door swung open, revealing my sleep deprived self to the detective.

 

"What's the story?" I questioned as he let himself in, staring down at me.

 

"There's been a fourth suicide," he said simply, offering me his hand.

 

I took it and grunted as he pulled me to my feet easily, which unfortunately caused me to stumble into the detective's chest. He wrapped his arms around me to keep me upright while glancing down at me questioningly.

 

"I'll come, just let me get dressed," I sighed, pushing away from his warm grip tiredly.

 

"Alright."

 

The detective stood boredly as I went to grab my clothes before turning to face him.

 

"Sherlock," I started.

 

"Hmm?" he asked.

 

"Out," I ordered.

 

Echo barked in agreement, but wagged her tail happily. It would seem she had grown to like him.

 

"Oh, I'll wait outside," the detective replied, seemingly embarrassed by his mistake.

 

A slight hint of a blush seemed to cross his features, but I could not tell as he quickly turned around and shut the door. I shook my head in amusement before tugging my shirt off over my head. My clothes fell to the floor and I changed as quickly as my tired body allowed. My outfit consisted of jeans and a baggy t-shirt because who dresses up to see a crime scene? I took a moment to make an attempt at bringing a brush through my hair but quickly gave up and put it into a messy bun.

 

"Alright," I said, putting my phone in my back pocket and opening the door to see Sherlock standing there awkwardly.

 

"It's alright Sherlock," I laughed, patting his arm lightly before heading downstairs and outside with the detective close behind.

 

John stood outside after having hailed for a cab which was waiting behind him. We stood and greeted each other for a moment before John quickly whispered something into Sherlock's ear and hopping in the cab. I raised my eyebrow quizzically at the detective but got no explanation so I shrugged and headed to the other side of the vehicle. Before I could open the door, Sherlock's hand darted out to do it for me. He smiled uncertainly as he held the door open for me.

 

"Thank you," I smiled, sliding into the middle seat of the cab before Sherlock sat beside me and closed the door.

 

I caught John give Sherlock a thumbs up as the cab began driving and laughed lightly, realizing what John had told Sherlock.

 

"Are you trying to be nice?" I teased, making Sherlock look confused for a moment.

 

"Is it working?" he asked hopefully.

 

I laughed and nodded before turning my gaze ahead. As we drove, Sherlock told John and I about his job as a consulting detective. His reaction to John's compliment made it seem as though he had never heard one directed at him before. I smiled at the two men beside me contently until we arrived at our destination. Before leaving the cab, I smiled at the cabbie and thanked him gratefully.

 

"Good day miss," he smiled back as I exited and walked between John and Sherlock.

 

Police cars were parked at random and the whole area was cut off with police tape. As we approached the scene, a woman stopped us before the tape.

 

"Hello freak," she greeted, staring directly at Sherlock who tensed up nearly unnoticeably.

 

"Excuse me?" I spat, staring her down.

 

Sherlock placed a hand on my shoulder in warning as the woman shuffled back a step.

 

"Thought so, bitch," I muttered under my breath as she lifted the tape for us to pass under.

 

"You're his girl now huh?" she asked as we headed towards the door, speaking ass though it was an insult.

 

I looked up at Sherlock and winked before turning back to her with a mischievous grin.

 

"Just play along," I whispered to him.

 

"Yup," I said, making her look at me uncertainly before dropping her jaw slightly.

 

The woman spoke into her radio, warning the others that we had arrived.

 

"Freak's here. Bringing him in."

 

I said nothing but looked up at Sherlock reassuringly. As much as I am sure he would never admit it, the insult did seem to affect him if only slightly. He walked stiffly beside me as a man exited the building and glared at Sherlock. Ouch. Sherlock doesn't seem to have many friends.

 

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again," the detective greeted.

 

"This is a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated," Anderson warned angrily, the vein in his forehead nearly bulging as it pulsed.

 

I zoned out while inspecting Sara after noticing that her knees were rather raw from some kind of rubbing. My attention was brought back just in time to hear of the affair Anderson and Sara were having. Unfortunately, I heard Sherlock's deduction of their sex life.

 

"Judging by the state of her knees," Sherlock finished.

 

"You guys are perfect for each other," I smirked, heading inside.

 

"I could say the same about you," Sara shot back, making me smile and call out over my shoulder.

 

"Comparing me to a genius is not exactly an insult dear," I laughed, linking my arm with Sherlock's before entering the building.

 

"Sorry, that was too fun," I apologized, dropping Sherlock's arm gently as the three of us heading up the stairs.

 

The detective looked down at his now empty arm, seeming a bit unsettled before smiling a bit.

 

"It was fairly amusing," he agreed.

 

Despite his limp, John soon reached the top with us where Lestrade was waiting.

 

"Hey Greg," I greeted, giving the inspector a quick hug before pulling on the blue cover to keep from contamination.

 

 

"Hello Em," he replied before discussing the victim with Sherlock as we approached the true crime scene.


	6. Another Late Night

After staring tirelessly at the crime scene with Sherlock, I decided that I was no longer needed when the detective asked for John's input before explaining it all himself. Knowing that Sherlock would end up rushing off somewhere without warning, I chose to hail a taxi and head back to my flat. Echo was surely becoming restless by now and had quite possibly destroyed the furniture.

 

 

As the cabbie drove me home, I thought of the woman in pink and considered who could have murdered people at random with such ease. With monsters it was much easier, as they often left clues or witnesses. Unfortunately, I had the gut feeling that this was not something supernatural. After mindlessly paying the driver and making my way to the door, I considered calling Cas for assistance in this merely to get it over with, however; I discarded the idea based on the assumption that Sherlock would not be pleased if I had a celestial wavelength solve his case for him.

 

 

"Echo," I called as I lugged my tired body up the staircase.

 

 

The moment the door opened, the husky's large head peeked around the catch before the rest of her body followed. There was no time to prepare myself as the dog leapt into me like a small boulder, nearly knocking me off my feet. My hand absentmindedly rubbed her head as I contemplated possible serial killers once again.

 

 

"Who would be able to pick someone out in a crowd and grab them without raising suspicion," I asked aloud.

 

 

Eclipse merely tilted her head quizzically, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth which brought a smile to my lips. Feeling uneasy, I retrieved Eclipse's silver leash and collar from the hall closet before attaching them to her. The canine trotted along happily beside me as we left the flat. Directly after closing the door to the building, I ran into my neighbors as they did the same.

 

 

"Sherlock, John," I greeted.

 

 

"Good evening Emily," John responded.

 

 

"There's a serial killer romping around and you're taking your dog for a walk in the dark?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow.

 

 

"You're going out too," I pointed out.

 

 

"Yes, to dinner," he responded, making me giggle slightly as I looked between him and the shorter man.

 

 

"No, not a date," John added defensively as I laughed.

 

 

"We will be waiting there for the killer. I recommend you stay clear of the area near the gardens, or better yet, stay home," Sherlock said coldly, his tone nearly angry.

 

 

"Have fun at dinner then," I replied, keeping my voice steady as the man loomed over me.

 

 

With that, I spun on my heel and headed down the block at a slow jog, Eclipse easily trotting at my side. The street lights illuminated our path as we jogged past a few small shops on the seemingly quiet streets of London. My feet hit the pavement at an even pace as we rounded the block, careful to avoid anyone who looked remotely suspicious. Despite his rudeness, Sherlock was not wrong. Running around at night with a Serial Killer on the loose was not the greatest plan, but hell if I was going to stay inside while Eclipse begged to go outside.

 

 

"C'mon girl," I murmured as we approached a well lit grocery store.

 

 

The woman working inside gave no protest to Eclipse and instead pet her as I grabbed food my fridge so desperately called for. Milk, crackers, bread, cheese, and a bag of dog food were what made it into my cart by the end of the trip. Flashing the cashier a small smile, I paid for my items and retrieved Eclipse's leash.

 

 

"Have a good night Miss," the woman called as I walked out of the store, groceries in hand.

 

 

Echo obediently walked next to me the entire way back to the flat without pulling at the leash despite the many sights and smells of the city which made me make a silent promise to find a place she could run around and stretch her legs the way she needed to. As we approached the flat, I noticed a few police cars parked out front and the door to 221B wide open. After dropping off the groceries right inside my door, I walked into the flat next door with Eclipse at my side.

 

 

"John? Sherlock?" I called out, jogging up the stairs and standing in the open doorway to the flat where Sherlock was bickering with Greg and Anderson. John quickly waved me over, making me walk to his side cautiously as the other men argued.

 

 

"They're here on a drugs bust," John informed.

 

 

It took me a moment to process before the information set in, making me shake my head stiffly as I realized the drugs bust was on Sherlock, and Sherlock did not seem surprised. I knew the man was an addict, but he seemed to be clean. If he was not, I would be sure to steer clear of him as my experiences with users had not been the most pleasant. Memories of my previous lover began to tease my mind before they were pushed aside when Echo began to growl aggressively in warning.

 

 

"What?" I whispered, glancing at the dog who stared into the darkness of the doorway as the men around us continued to argue.

 

 

The figure of a man slowly approached, but Sherlock and I seemed to be the only ones to notice other than Eclipse. The dog snarled and lunged at the man, only to be held back by her leash.

 

"Eclipse," I warned, kneeling beside her and patting her head reassuringly as someone rushed out of the door.

 

 

It was only when I stood that I realized Sherlock had left, and the man had as well.

 

 

"Shit," I groaned, hearing the engine of a car gradually become quieter which signaled the departure of a vehicle outside.

 

 

As the rest of the men argued, I slipped into Sherlock's room silently and brought one of his unwashed shirts to Echo's nose. She seemed to understand and took in a few deep whiffs of his scent before jogging out of the door, dragging me close behind.

 

 

"Em, come look at this," John called, bringing my attention to the screen of his laptop which displayed a red blip that was rapidly moving across the screen.

 

 

"Sherlock?" I asked breathlessly.

 

 

"Most likely," he sighed.

 

 

I nodded curtly and grabbed the man's arm before dragging him and Echo to my flat.

 

 

"We might need a weapon," I explained, pulling a pistol and a handgun from under my bed before tossing one to John who raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

 

 

"Why do you have weapons stored under your bed?" he questioned.

 

 

"Doesn't everyone? This is not the time to argue," I retorted, jogging outside with him and the dog in tow.

 

 

The man hailed the nearest taxi and promised to pay extra for our canine companion. The driver reluctantly allowed us to enter the cab. I ran my hand through Echo's fur worriedly as John quickly told the cabbie where we needed to be. The dog panted quietly and licked my face reassuringly as we approached our destination: a nearby college building.


	7. Moriarty

When we arrived, John and I chose to split up. He took one building while Echo and I took the other. Once inside, I knelt down beside the canine which gained her full attention.

 

"Find him," I commanded quietly, patting her head lightly as her blue eyes pierced mine and her tongue lolled out of the side of her mouth.

 

As soon as I returned to my feet, Echo lifted her head to sniff the air before bounding off down the hallway. The lights that were probably usually welcoming only left eerie shadows on the light colored walls as I jogged after the dog. After a few turns, Echo stopped dead, seeming to have lost the scent. She then paced for a moment, her nose to the hard floor before she stopped in front of a door. Inside, faint and incomprehensible murmurs could be heard as two people seemed to carry on a conversation. 

 

"Good girl," I said, ready to break down the large door when a gunshot rang out.

 

The shot elicited a whimper from Echo and a fear of dread from within me. Frantically, I beat on the door relentlessly before taking a deep breath as I stepped back. With a groan, I kicked the door in annoyance and raised my leg to break it down only to hear a hoarse voice scream out a familiar name.

 

"Moriarty!"

 

The name gave me a rush of adrenaline as I kicked the door with the rest of my strength which disconnected it from its hinges and sent it to the floor. The absence of the door revealed Sherlock standing over a broken and bloody body belonging to the old cabbie I had seen at the flat. It was then I realized that the shot had come from the building over based upon the two broken windows. It was John who fired the gun.

 

"Sherlock," I sighed in relief, pain slowly creeping up my leg as I limped up to him as he stared on in surprise.

 

As I stood beside him, I looked down at the cabbie as he took labored breaths.

 

"Where is he," I demanded, kneeling beside him.

 

The man shook his head in defiance before his eyes closed and the rise and fall of his chest stopped.

 

"No. Wake up! Where is Moriarty?!" I shouted hopelessly at the corpse, dread seeping into my very soul as I thought of the man I knew as my patient.

 

After taking a deep breath, I shuddered and pushed myself onto my feet only to lose my balance as a sharp pain ran up my leg.

 

"Fuck," I groaned, ready to feel the embrace of the concrete next to the corpse.

 

Fortunately, my body never hit the floor. Instead, Sherlock's arms were awkwardly wrapped around my waist as he kept me on my feet while baring most of my weight.

 

"Thank you Sherlock," I said earnestly, smiling up at his bewildered face and reaching up to move a stray curl out of his face.

 

The man was silent, as though he had never heard those words directed at him. A sudden wave of courage washed over me and I placed a quick kiss on his cheek before twisting out of his weakened grip.

 

"C'mon. Lestrade will be here soon," I warned, limping away with Luna at my side but stopping in the door frame to glance back at him.

 

He stood rigid, his long coat slightly shifting in the cool breeze from the now broken window. After a moment of staring into the empty air, the detective shook his head as though to clear it and took two long strides to reach me before looking down at me curiously. His arm twitched slightly and he seemed to contemplate something before reaching out towards me slightly.

 

"Would you like help?" he asked quietly.

 

Who knew a kiss would render the famous detective so shy. I shot him a small smile and nodded, allowing him to wrap his arm around me in order to support some of my weight before starting off for the exit. 

 

"Are you alright Sherlock? You were just confronted by a killer," I asked as we reached the door, glancing up at the stiff man at my side.

 

Behind the door the flashing lights proved that I was correct about Lestrade's arrival, however; I waited for Sherlock's answer.

 

"I'm alright," he responded, pushing open the door with his free hand which allowed Echo to trot through. 

 

The parking lot was full of emergency vehicles and their blinding lights as I led the detective over to Lestrade who beckoned us to an ambulance. There, Sherlock was tended to and given a blanket as I looked on across the lot where my eyes met those of John. Letting out a sigh of relief, I hobbled over to him and pulled him into a hug so that I could speak without being heard by any others.

 

"Thank you, that was an amazing shot," I whispered before releasing him and hobbling back over to Sherlock who suddenly halted his conversation with Greg as his eyes widened slightly.

 

I smiled and stood beside John as the detective made his way over, warding off Lestrade with his shock blanket. When he reached us, his first words brought an even bigger grin to my face.

 

"Nice shot," he praised, smirking at John and taking me by the waist before leading us away from the scene towards home.

 

Suddenly Echo barked in warning and a tall figure stepped out of a black car that had been hidden in the darkest corner of the lot. A smaller woman soon joined it and they both approached, making Echo growl softly before circling back so that she stood directly in front of me.

 

"Now now, please call off the mongrel," a sickeningly familiar voice said, causing Echo to immediately relax as she recognized him.

 

"Mycroft!" I greeted as the dog leapt up against him to give his face a lick before returning to my side.

 

"Mycroft," Sherlock muttered, tightening his grip on me to the point I was sure his fingers would leave bruises.

 

"This is him. The enemy I told you about," John said, pointing his finger at the older Holmes brother accusingly.

 

The rest of the conversation seemed to escape my mental grasp until Mycroft took another step forward and Sherlock tugged me into him, his grasp on me forcing me to take slightly labored breaths. By the time John was aware of the fact that before us stood Sherlock's brother, pain was spreading through my abdomen.

 

"You're hurting her," Mycroft pointed out, grabbing my arm and tugging me towards him.

 

"Nope! I refuse to take part in a tug o' war between you two," I wheezed, pushing the man away from me and standing beside a confused John as Sherlock glared daggers at his brother.

 

"Let's go," I added hopefully, pulling Sherlock from his trance. 

 

The younger Holmes boy nodded in response and reached out to help me before retracting his hand at my slightly fearful expression as though he had been burned. 

 

"Need a ride?" Mycroft offered, noticing my limp.

 

"If you take all of us," I bargained, making his face fall as he glumly nodded.

 

With that, John helped me hobble to the car and held the door for me before entering behind. Being the shortest, I sat between him and Sherlock. The latter seemed to shrink away from my gaze every time I looked over. Before I could say a word, Mycroft and his assistant entered the car with Echo who quickly made her bed in his lap as the woman drove. As we began the drive, I worked up the courage to lay my head on Sherlock's shoulder but quickly retreated when he tensed up beneath me. Instead, I leaned back and stared at the interior of the vehicle until we arrived at Baker Street. After a quick goodbye, Mycroft and his assistant were gone. Before I could speak, Sherlock began taking long strides towards the door of his flat. 

 

"Sherlock," I called out, jogging after him painfully.

 

"Fuck," I whispered under my breath, grabbing his arm just as my leg gave out beneath me.

 

John discreetly entered the flat, leaving me, my dog, and the cold detective alone.

 

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry," I said, struggling to find my balance on my one uninjured leg as he turned to face me.

 

He merely stood there and stared blankly, forcing a sigh from my throat.

 

"Goodnight," I said curtly, taking a one-legged leap of faith to the banister a few feet away and grabbing it as though my life depended on it.

 

"Wait," a quiet voice stopped me in my tracks as I swung the door open, allowing Echo to bound inside excitedly.

 

Sherlock was behind me in an instant and carefully lifted me into his arms before entering my flat, sure the close and lock the door behind him. With a giggle, I reached up and ruffled his hair playfully while shooting him a questioning glance.

 

"You needed help," he explained as we reached the top of the stairs and he went to set me down on the couch.

 

As he did so, my shirt lifted up slightly and exposed the side he had held in his relentless grip. His face went sheet white as he laid me down as though I was made of glass.

 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his blue eyes unable to meet my own as I lifted up the side of my loose t shirt and gasped lightly at the already forming bruises.

 

"I should have told you that it was hurting. I'm ok Sherlock, I've had worse," I smiled reassuringly, pushing myself into a sitting position and patting the cushion beside me.

 

He hesitated for a moment, staring at the couch uncertainly.

 

"I don't bite," I giggled, making him give in and plop down beside me.

 

"Much," I whispered into his ear playfully, sending a shiver down his spine.

 

The man gave me an almost predatory look that made me force back a gulp.

 

"Kidding Holmes, thank you for your help," I added quickly, resting my head on his shoulder to ease the tension.


	8. Nearly Dying + Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew this was a long one :P

It had been a few days since Sherlock almost killed himself to prove his cleverness, and thoughts of Moriarty plagued my mind constantly since the night he left after helping me up the staircase. I had been going back to work and made sure to check up on my current patients to monitor their progress. Unfortunately returning to work forced me to deal with a few parents who brought in their children because of their "random" and "bipolar" behavior saying that the kids were surely mentally ill when it was truly the parents with the problems. Today, the case of a suicidal schizophrenic whose mother stole her meds nearly made me call Cas to smite the ridiculous parent. She got lucky, as she dumped the girl and promptly drove off after signing some paperwork. After a late night I was finally able to return home where I was sure Echo was waiting impatiently. By the time Baker Street came into view from the windshield of my car I was exhausted.

 

"Finally," I muttered, noticing a black clad figure standing at the door of 221B and rubbing my eyes in an effort to wipe away my need for sleep.

 

I stared on in silent disbelief as John was struck in the head before he dropped to the floor. Staggering slightly, I slammed the door to my car and yelled at the dark figure.

 

"Hey!" I shouted, trying not to yawn as the man snapped his head towards me before holding a knife to John's throat.

 

"Come quietly or he dies," he warned, staring at me from beneath his hood.

 

"Back off," I hissed, taking a tentative step forward but not daring to go any further.

 

In what felt like a instant, he lunged towards me and everything went black. When my consciousness began to return, it brought a sense of dread with it as I remembered that James Moriarty was quite possibly at large in London. My eyelids fluttered open and immediately fell upon a torch that illuminated the sewer I had been brought to. I soon realized that my body was restrained against a chair and John as well as a woman were beside me in the same predicament. I was not able to take in much more of the room before an asian woman dressed in black and wearing large sunglasses caught our attention with her words. The man who had captured us stood beside her.

 

"A book is like a garden, carried in your pocket."

 

Everything was silent for a moment as she walked towards us leisurely, eyes obscured by her glasses. When she stood only a few feet away from John, she raised her sunglasses and looked down upon him disdainfully. I watched in silent confusion as the woman addressed him as "Mr. Holmes" and cringed as he attempted to prove otherwise, only for her to reveal Sherlock's card which had made its way into his wallet. The rag in my mouth prevented me from speaking up as John realized that his predicament was hopeless. I cursed to myself as the woman raised a gun to his head, making him fall silent. As she monologued and cocked the gun, I frantically prayed to Castiel for help. 

 

"Cas, life threatening situation over here," I called out mentally, only for the woman who revealed herself to be Shan to pull the trigger.

 

I flinched and shouted sanctimoniously before realizing that John's head was intact, and the gun had in fact been unloaded. Unfortunately my outburst brought her attention to me.

 

"Hm. I thought your feelings lied with his companion," she mused, loading the handgun before turning back to John.

 

"Do you have it?" she questioned, raising the gun to his eye level and staring him down.

 

When John failed to comply, as none of us had a clue as to what she was demanding, the woman became visibly angry. I could only stare in horror as the man pulled away a sheet and revealed a harpoon type machine I had only seen in dangerous circus acts. 

 

"Sherlock, now would be a really good time to make an appearance," I muttered to myself beneath the gag as the barely conscious woman was lifted by two men and place directly in front of the weapon. 

 

"Everything in the West has a price, and the price for her life is information," Shan began.

 

"Where's the hairpin?" she asked as Johns girlfriend squirmed against her restraints.

 

"What?" he questioned.

 

"The empress pin. Valued at nine million and we already had a buyer in the West" Shan hissed.

 

My attempts against my restraints were renewed as everyone's attention fell upon Shan as she prepared to cut the sandbag and start the timer that would signal the woman's death. With one quick movement, I slipped a knife from my sleeve into my hand and began cutting through the ropes binding my wrist.

 

"For once, you were right Dean," I nearly laughed, holding the now useless rope in my hand to keep it from falling onto the stone floor where it would be obvious.

 

The tears streaming down the woman's face was almost enough for me to make an attempt to kill Shan with a knife, but I knew it would be useless as there were two armed guards who would kill us shortly after. I watched helplessly as John once again denied being Sherlock Holmes before a familiar voice echoed through the tunnel.

 

"Sherlock Holmes is nothing like him. How would you describe me John, Emily? Resourceful, dynamic, enigmatic?" he questioned, eliciting a sigh of relief from me as his figure disappeared behind the safety of a wall while the men approached his previous location.

 

With everyone's attention on him, I removed the gag from my mouth and threw it on the floor before turning to John. As Sherlock warned the woman of the dangers of firing her weapon he stated that if she missed, it would ricochet.

 

"Could hit anyone," he finished, sounding as though he was attempting to keep the worry out of his voice. 

 

As he ran towards us, I leapt to my feet and wrapped the rope around Shan's neck from behind before yanking her back while Sherlock rushed to release the woman who's time was quickly running out. I snarled when the last guard tied a piece of fabric around Sherlock's neck and yanked him back. 

 

"Nope," I said curtly, using a pressure point on Shan's neck to render her unconscious before snatching the gun and aiming at the man who held Sherlock.

 

John struggled against his ropes behind me as the ball that would set off the weapon came dangerously close to the trigger. I pulled the trigger with the hope that all the time spent training with the Winchesters would pay off and not get me killed. The next few seconds felt as though in slow motion as Sherlock gasped for air and I leapt into the still restrained woman, sending us as well as Sherlock tumbling to the floor as the arrow flew over us and clattered against the wall. I barely noticed that the guard had fallen as well, dead with a bullet in his forehead.

 

"Nice shot," John grunted, pulling his girlfriend out of the pile of bodies and broken pieces of chair.

 

I felt a warm liquid soak my shirt as the weight was removed and quickly realized that a piece of wood was lodged in my abdomen. Although Sherlock and the woman were unharmed other than a few scrapes and bruises, I now lay bleeding.

 

"Lucky me," I muttered, rolling off of Sherlock and trying not to cry out as the piece of chair shifted slightly.

 

Both Sherlock and John's face filled with horror as they came to the same realization that I had. As the wood dug into my lung, I knew that I would likely not make it to a hospital.

 

"Yeo Cas," I coughed, "Now would be a good time to show up."

 

Sherlock knelt beside me and gripped my hand as though his life depended it while John sat on the other side mumbling some sort of medical bullshit.

 

"Sorry doc, don't think that's gonna work," I said, humor making its way into my voice as I attempted to console him.

 

"Emily?" a familiar voice questioned, making my gaze shift to a figure who had appeared beside John's girlfriend.

 

"Cas. Great timing," I said sarcastically as he dropped to his knees next to John.

 

"Hold her still," he ordered, staring intensely at Sherlock and John.

 

They did as asked without question for once and watched on as Castiel gripped the large chunk of chair that had made its way into my body.

 

"I'm sorry," he whispered mournfully, before pulling out the wood in one swift motion.

 

A scream of agony escaped my lips but was soon silenced by the look of horror upon Sherlock's face.

 

"Hey. I'll be fine," I said, forcing a smile in his direction as Cas dug out the other smaller splinters before placing his less bloody hand upon my forehead.

 

The pain soon subsided, allowing my to sit upright and move away from the pool of blood I had created.

 

"Thanks Cas," I said weakly, pulling the angel into a quick hug.

 

My tired eyes did not fail to notice the dark look that Sherlock had as Castiel wrapped his arms around me gently, and I was too exhausted to resist as Sherlock pulled me against him the moment Cas released me.

 

"Let's go home," I breathed, nodding at Cas in thanks as he snapped his fingers and disappeared as he usually did.

 

I barely blinked when Sherlock pulled me into his arms to carry me, yet when I awoke again I was in a flat that looked similar to my own, however; the room was not my own. Sherlock sat beside me holding a newspaper, but all I could read on it was a story about a hairpin.

 

"You're alright," he breathed, setting down the paper and placing a cup of tea on the nightstand next to the bed where another was already resting.

 

"Told you I would be. What happened?" I asked.

 

"You passed out for about a day."

 

"Yes I know that, I meant the hairpin."

 

"Ah, Shan escaped as we were very much preoccupied and the hairpin was given as a gift by Van Coon who pinched it and gave it to his secretary who he happened to be sleeping with," he explained.

 

I rolled my eyes and began to pull myself into a sitting position. Despite the pain being gone, my body was exhausted. Sherlock noticed my dilemma and tentatively helped me sit up against the bed frame before handing me a cup of tea.

 

"Thank you, Sherlock," I smiled, sipping the tea contently while the man beside me slowly slid down on the bed to lay his head in my lap.

 

"You're welcome," he mumbled, curling up on the mattress next to me and using my legs as a pillow.

 

Sighing, I ran my fingers through his soft curls mindlessly while using my free hand to sip at my drink. The detective seemed to lean into my touch and sighed in content as his breathing slowed. Soon enough, he was fast asleep. His peaceful form brought a genuine smile to my face as I took the time to stare at his well sculpted face, tracing my fingers over his cheek softly as to avoid waking him from his well deserved rest.


	9. Tea and Waffles

Once I was sure that the detective was sound asleep, I carefully shifted his head onto the pillow with a light blush tinting my features before silently exiting the room with the two teacups. The quiet shut of the door allowed me to release a sigh of relief as I entered the living room where John sat on his chair.

"He hasn't slept since you've been asleep. He had me check up on you every few hours even though you were miraculously perfectly fine," he said, setting his newspaper down on the table and standing up before pulling me into a hug.

When we pulled away I set the cups down in the kitchen sink and sat on the chair opposite of John's, staring at him quietly to brace myself for the question that would surely come.

"Who was that man? Cas, you called him Cas. How did he just magically heal you?" he questioned, leaning towards me expectantly.

"Well uh. You're not going to believe me so you may want to pass that entire situation off as a bad dream," I said hopefully.

"Tried that. Unfortunately didn't work. Surprisingly she didn't remember a thing though, maybe that Cas fellow did something to her memories."

"She? Your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Not anymore," he sighed.

I nodded sympathetically and took a deep breath before telling him about the Supernatural.

"Well monsters are real," I began, "and so are most supernatural things. For example: witches, skinchangers, vampires, werewolves, demons, angels, and the list goes on. Long story short, my friend Castiel happens to be an angel. You could look him up if you'd like, Castiel: Angel of Thursday. I used to be hunter with my friends Sam and Dean but after an incident with Lucifer I moved here where the British Men of Letters keep a close watch on anything supernatural and destroy it. Unfortunately that means that he probably has left a few marks on their radar and will be unable to return for a while without being hunted."

After the long explanation, I took a deep breath and leaned back as John simply stared with his mouth slightly ajar.

"Close that unless you are keen on consuming flies," Sherlock's voice rang from the now open door frame where he had been listening to my explanation.

"At least I don't have to explain it twice, although you already knew part of it," I sighed, standing from his chair to search the fridge.

When I opened it, dead eyes stared back at me. I rolled my eyes and groaned before slowly shutting it.

"You've got to be shitting me. You have a head in there but no waffles?" I groaned, turning around to face Sherlock who shrugged sheepishly.

John still sat in disbelief so I quickly ran next door to grab some food and Sherlock was right on my heels. When I stopped abruptly, the man bumped into me and nearly sent me tumbling into the door.

"Sherlock," I whined, throwing open my door and rushing to the pantry for waffle mix.

Once that was in hand, I snatched up my waffle maker and strolled back out to the living room where Sherlock was staring disdainfully at Echo as she attempted to impress him by chasing her tail around in circles.

"Aw, so cute," I teased as he finally gave in and leaned down to scratch behind her fluffy ears.

"I have to take her out for a run later," I realized, leaning against the wall for support as the detective stood up straight once more.

"I should come," he said monotonously, although his expression seemed almost nervous.

I tilted my head to the side curiously but a small twinge of pride would not allow me to question him. Instead I thought of Moriarty and the possible danger he posed before I chose to pin the reason as that: safety. After all, I could not get in the way of a case. After the realization was made, I nodded curtly and patted Echo before heading next door. I heard Sherlock lock the door to my flat behind me as I entered 221B.

"Waffles," I explained to a still-dazed John who seemed to be approaching the inevitable state of denial from his chair.

After entering the kitchen, I found the nearest outlet and started up the waffle machine in silence as Sherlock entered behind me, still looking quite tired. The silence plagued the flat as I put the mix in a bowl with the necessary liquid ingredients.

"You need more sleep," I sighed, pouring in the mix and closing the waffle maker before turning to face him.

"I don't sleep more than a few hours a night."

"Then start," I smiled, wrapping my arms around his lithe waist.

The man still tensed beneath my touch, but only took a second to relax as I rested my chin on his chest to stare up at his confused expression.

"I like my detectives alive and healthy. Besides, how are you going to save us the next time John and I get ourselves into a stupid situation if you're half asleep?"

"You won't experience more dangerous situations."

 

His sincere and confident tone caused me to burst out laughing as I turned back to the machine and slid the two waffles onto a plate before refilling the waffle maker with more batter. Through my hysterics I was barely able to butter and pour syrup over the waffles.

"Funny, but I happen to be a magnet for danger," I giggled, handing him the plate to give to John.

The man grumbled in slight defiance, for once seemingly lost for words before he went to hand John his plate. It was only after finishing Sherlock's breakfast that I was able to dry my watering mouth with large chunks of waffle. Instead of eating at the table I inhaled bits of my waffle from the kitchen as Sherlock and John sat like civilized people.

"Thank you for breakfast," Sherlock said, walking past me to set his plate in the sink before reaching mine and doing the same.

"You're welcome. I should head home," I sighed, heading for the door with waffle maker in hand.

"Wait-" Sherlock started, making me stop in my tracks.

The air around us seemed to grow thick with tension as he silently contemplated his next words.

"It would be safer if you stayed here for a few days."

I glanced at John for approval and he nodded in agreement. 'Surely being closer to the man many people want dead is not safer, however; I worry for these two and I know it would be impossible to protect them from my flat,' I thought to myself.

"I mean I'm the one with the weapon stash, and what about Echo" I trailed off, glancing around uncertainly as soon as the words left my lips.

"You could bring whatever you need, including the dog," Sherlock added, staring at me intently as I shifted uncomfortably.

"Alright," I gave in, knowing I may have just signed my death warrant.


	10. Gunshots and Explosions

"Bored," was the word that woke me from my sleep before a gunshot rang out from close range, making Echo leap from the bed. 

 

"SHERLOCK!" I furiously yelled from his room, too tired to get out of bed.

 

Maybe it was because it smelled like him, but the bed would not release me from its hold. I had been staying in 221B for a few days hoping that Moriarty would not come out of his hole any time soon. Another gunshot interrupted my thoughts as I opened my mouth to yell once again.

 

"Sherlock if you shoot that damn wall one more time-" I started, only to be cut off by yet another shot.

 

I mumbled profanities to myself as I slid off the bed and ungracefully stumbled out to the living room where Sherlock laid on the couch with a firearm.

 

"Seriously?" I questioned.

 

The man shrugged before standing up and shooting at the wall again, another shout erupting from his lips.

 

"For fucks sake," I groaned, walking up to him and removing the gun from his grasp as Echo settled down in the corner of the room.

 

After unloading it, I sat on the couch and looked up at Sherlock as he paced energetically.

 

"Sherlock," I begged, rubbing my temples in exasperation as John entered the room.

 

"What's gotten into the criminal classes? It's a good thing I'm not one of them," Sherlock muttered, tracing his fingers over the wall above my head.

 

"So you take it out on the wall?" John questioned as I handed him the firearm.

 

"The wall had it coming," Sherlock said coldly.

 

"Mrs. Hudson is going to have a fit," I sighed.

 

Sherlock glanced down at me and his eyes seemed to soften as I scooted over to the very edge of the couch before patting the spot beside me. He hesitated for a moment which elicited a chuckle from both John and I.

 

"Sherlock, we sleep in the same bed," I reminded, smiling up at his face as it turned a slight shade of red.

 

The man nodded curtly in response and plopped onto the sofa beside me before laying down to tiredly place his head in my lap while he talked with the doctor. I ran my fingers through his hair absentmindedly as they spoke, the thick curls soft beneath my fingers. It was hard to not let out a giggle as John walked over to the fridge while asking about food.

 

"John I wouldn't-" I paused as he swung the fridge door open.

 

I held in a breath as John quickly slammed it shut again after seeing the head, before opening it again.

 

"There's a head."

 

"Just tea for me, thanks. Em?" Sherlock said monotonously.

 

"No, there's a head in the fridge."

"Yes," the detective drawled as though explaining something to a child.

 

"Why is there a head in the fridge? A bloody head," John ranted.

 

"Where else was I supposed to put it?"   
"Sherlock. You could always buy a separate fridge for your experiments," I suggested softly, twisting his hair gently.

 

"Wh-" John questioned hopelessly.

 

"I got it from the morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case," Sherlock said, pointing at the laptop on the dining table.

 

"A Study in Pink," he added as John sat down on his chair.

 

"I like it," I defended giving Sherlock a warning glance before he could be rude to John about the title.

 

"I didn't" he said flatly, ignoring my glance and making me tug on a strand of his hair in annoyance which made him jump slightly, although; not in pain.

 

"Why not, I thought you'd be flattered?" John said, seeming slightly disappointed.

 

A quiet sigh erupted from my throat as the two spoke, both slightly annoyed at the other. 

 

"Sherlock, he didn't mean to insult you. We all know you are highly intelligent so please for the love of all that is holy stop bickering," I hissed, my anger causing him to sit up.

 

The silence was broken by John, who quickly received a glare from me.

 

"But it's the Solar System!" he protested.

 

"Look John. It's not information he deemed important enough to remember. It's not like brains have infinite space," I replied calmly, placing a hand gently on the detective's knee as he leaned forward towards the doctor.

 

"All that matters to me, is the work," Sherlock informed, further adding to my explanation.

 

The words hit me like a bullet to the chest, but I did not show it other than in the retraction of my hand as the John stood and headed towards the door. Sherlock went to lay his head back down but I quickly jumped away and stood as well, ready to follow John when Mrs. Hudson arrived with a bag.

 

"You three have a domestic?" she questioned, staring at Sherlock who promptly stood and went to the window.

 

"He should have wrapped himself up a bit more," she noticed.

 

"Look at it Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock started, but I only tuned him out before slowly walking out the door and over to my flat.

 

Once inside, I immediately collapsed onto my sofa. Before I could get comfortable, my cell phone buzzed in my back pocket. I tiredly answered, rolling into a more comfortable position.

 

"Hey Abby, I wanted to warn you that Cas is not himself right now. He saved Sammy from the pit but he was pretty messed up and started seeing Lucifer. Anyways, he saved Sam, but he's not doing to great. The guy's gone crazy." Deans voice rambled.

 

"It's Emily now by the way- wait a sec, Cas took Sam's insanity? Where is he now?"

 

"In an asylum."

 

"Dean, he saved your brother's life and you leave him in a mental ward?" I asked in disbelief.

 

The elder Winchester went silent at the sound of my disappointment.

 

"Look. I don't want to argue with you right now. Thank you for telling me, keep an eye on him. He's done a lot for you two," I responded, ending the call and staring at the ceiling before heading back next door with Echo's treats as i suddenly felt lonely.

 

A frantic bark could be heard from behind the door as I arrived. As soon as I entered the living room, an explosion shook the entire building and knocked Sherlock into me as he went crashing to the floor. Remembering the wound caused by the last time we were in a similar situation, I frantically fought for consciousness as the world faded around me. Unfortunately, the battle was lost quickly after it began and my consciousness escaped me. 

 

"Fuck," was the first words to leave my lips as my entire body throbbed dully.

 

"Emily?" Sherlock rasped, pulling me to my feet just as the police barged through the partially intact door.

 

"Anyone hurt?" they questioned as Echo emerged from the undamaged corner, shaking dust off of her coat disdainfully.

 

I shook my head and stood silently as Sherlock spoke to the police before joining me.

 

"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes scanning my tired form.

 

"Yes," I said curtly.

 

"You're upset," he noted, tilting his head slightly and meeting my eyes with his own.

 

"As if you care," I laughed, "all that matters is your work, and it looks like this is the start of an interesting case for you."

 

I shifted my gaze to Echo before he could speak and pet her gratefully.

 

"You'll need a place to sleep tonight, come with me," I said monotonously, slowly staggering out of the flat and towards my own while Echo trotted alongside me.

 

The footsteps behind me signaled that the detective had followed me as we entered my flat which thankfully, was undamaged. 

 

"I'm going to shower, you should too," I said quietly, taking note of the dust covering both of us.

 

"Emily-" he started, gently grabbing my shoulder.

 

"What?" I snapped, refusing to turn back and face him.

 

My decision was quickly overruled as the detective spun me around and pressed his body against my own.

 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, kissing the top of my head softly as I stood rigid in his embrace.

 

"Don't apologize to someone who doesn't matter," I sighed, attempting to escape his grip but it only tightened.

 

"I care for you," he stuttered slightly.

 

"I know you lie to get what you want Holmes, I have nothing you are interested in so drop the act," I said calmly.

 

"I can't turn back time and take back what I said. I'm sorry," he repeated, his tone level but his eyes seeming to convey helplessness as I finally gazed into them.

 

"I'm glad you're alright," I whispered, avoiding the topic all together as the reality of his uncaring nature would only upset me further.

A soft sigh left Sherlock's lips as he used one hand to raise my head up so that my gaze could not escape his own.   
"That saying," he started, his cool breath grazing my cheek as he leaned in closer, "actions speak louder than words."  
The cliche quote made me roll my eyes but they quickly returned to surveying the detective's face as he slid his hands down to my waist and leaned his face towards mine. We were so close that I could feel the heart some questioned the existence of beating in the detective's chest. Before I could think too hard as to why his heart rate was elevated, Sherlock's lips met mine. My eyes widened in surprise as his soft lips moved experimentally against my still ones and before I could respond, he had pulled away. We stared at each other for a moment, his breath seemed to hitch as he released his hold on my waist.

 

"I'm sorry. I must have read the signs wrong. I didn't know how to make you believe me-"   
As a parallel to every typical female character in the media, I cut him off by placing my lips on his and pushing him gently until his back met a wall. Our lips moved slowly as he attempted to make sense of the situation, making me pull away for a moment.

 

"Not the time to deduce. Just kiss me," I laughed slightly at his obvious inexperience and confusion.

 

The detective's eyes seemed to darken and suddenly my back was against the wall. Before I could speak, his lips were back on mine. This time, our mouths moved ravenously against each other as he pressed against me. He seemed to be attempting to prove his point through his desperate actions as he poured the emotion he did not usually show into the kiss, quickly running his tongue over my bottom lip in an attempt to deepen it. After a moment of contemplation, I gave in and allowed his tongue to graze the inside of my mouth slightly before I fought for dominance. My hand made its way into the detective's hair and tugged gently which allowed me entrance, if only for a moment. After what felt like hours, we pulled away for air. Though I breathed heavily and probably looked quite bedraggled, the only evidence on Sherlock was the slightly faster rise and fall of his chest and the pink tint spreading across his face as he stared at me questioningly.

 

"Believe me yet?" he rasped.


	11. A Case

The next morning, I woke up curled up against Sherlock's side and let out a childish giggle when I realized that his shirt had been removed at some point the night before. After the kiss, we had ended up awkwardly cuddling in silence while watching Netflix until we fell asleep, allowing me the glorious sight of a shirtless Sherlock in the morning.

 

"Good morning," he drawled uncertainly, already awake and seemingly confused.

 

"Morning," I yawned, burrowing my face into his warm shoulder.

 

His hand reached towards my hair for a moment but he seemed to think better of it and shift his weight so that he could look down at me. It took everything in me not to stare at his body as I glanced up at him quizzically.

 

"But you're warm" I whined childishly as he stared down at me emotionlessly.

When the staring continued for a solid minute, I chose to break the silence.

 

"What's wrong?" I asked gently.

 

I moved to unravel our bodies and sit beside him but his arm held me in place as his ocean eyes bore into me.

 

"I don't know how to do this," he groaned sheepishly before leaning down to carefully join our lips once again.

 

When we parted, I took a quick breath and smiled up at him only for him to spew out an obviously carefully calculated question.

 

"I figure this may go without saying, but since you seem close with that angel I figure I should ask. Will you be my girlfriend?"

 

For a moment I gawked at him, wondering how he might have guessed that Castiel and I had a bit of history. Since it had never been a serious relationship, I was curious as to how the detective was able to figure it out. I thought I had been so careful to not show any signs of previous romantic encounters with the Seraph.

When I realized that he was still waiting for an answer, I grinned sheepishly at him.

 

"Of course, but I have to know. How did you know about Cas?"

 

"You weren't the one who gave it away. I assume that it was a merely physical relationship but from the way he looks at you, he wanted more, however; when he told you that, you broke it off," the detective said, sounding quite angry at the thought.

 

"Damn," I whispered, shaking my head before resting it on his chest.

 

"Well, this will be the one area you may be more experienced than me in, Emily," he noted, smirking down at me with a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

 

A knowing smile made its way onto my face and I reached up to run my hands through his hair before tugging slightly. The action elicited a slight groan from Sherlock as I leaned forward so that my lips grazed his ear.

 

"Sounds fun," I smirked as he shivered.

 

I planted a light kiss to his forehead before rolling out of bed to grab breakfast, leaving Sherlock in a bit of a daze. My smile never faded as I poured myself a bowl of cereal before shouting a question to Sherlock, only for him to appear in the doorway of the kitchen.

 

"Sure," he said in response to my unasked question.

 

I nodded and poured the cereal into a second bowl for him before pouring food into Echo's bowl, making her come bounding from my room.

 

"You both come when you hear food," I laughed, grinning up at Sherlock as he poured milk into both of our bowls and retrieved two spoons.

 

The detective chuckled lightly at the comparison and shook his head in disbelief before holding a bowl out to me. I very obviously checked him out as he still lacked a shirt, which made him smirk at me knowingly and stand comfortable under my watchful gaze.

 

"Thank you," I said as I took the bowl happily and began to eat, tearing my eyes from his chest.

 

As soon as I finished, my bowl was swept from the counter and placed in the sink by Sherlock who then stepped closer as though to tease me even more with his body.

 

"Not fair," I muttered, sliding my eyes up his chest until they met his eyes.

 

"Hm?" he questioned with a smirk.

 

"It's not fair that you are that damn attractive," I huffed, gesturing at him in exasperation.

 

"I could say the same about you," he said bravely, taking another step towards me.

 

"As much as I would love to bring you back to bed with me, put on a shirt because I think we should head back over to your place before John shows up. I'm sure we were on the news," I sighed.

 

I watched in defeat as Sherlock sauntered back to the room and put on the shirt he had worn last night before returning to my side. I stood on the tips of my toes to plant a quick kiss on his perfect lips before calling Echo over and heading next door. As we arrived, so did Mycroft. Sherlock let us in silently before following us up the stairs with Echo on his heels. Once there, I went directly to the bathroom which was surprisingly still intact. Sherlock went to his room to change his clothes and Mycroft settled down in John's chair. 

 

While in the bathroom I washed my face as best I could in order to remove the remnants of dust from the explosion. By the time I returned to the Holmes boys, they were already arguing. It would seem Mycroft wanted him to take a case.

 

"This is of national importance," he insisted, looking to me for help only for me to shrug as Sherlock strummed the strings of his violin.

 

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked.

 

"Fine," Mycroft said coldly, glaring daggers at his younger brother.

 

"Perhaps you can get through to him Emily," he said, turning back to me for help just as John burst in through the door.

 

"What's going on?" John questioned, nearly mirroring the question I was going to ask.

 

Knowing Mycroft, this case most likely involved damage to national security or something of the sort.

 

"Gas leak apparently," Sherlock told John, interrupting his brother.

 

John paced around before stopping to stand next to me as the two brothers bickered. Mycroft looked particularly annoyed when asked why he was not investigating it himself.

 

"I cannot be away from the office for any length of time, not with the Korean elections so-" he stopped himself there as Sherlock and I shot him a curious look.

 

"Well you don't need to know about that do you. Besides, a case like this requires legwork," he said in disgust, making Sherlock pluck a particularly high string in annoyance.

 

John shifted uncomfortably next to me while rubbing his neck, drawing Sherlock's attention back to us.

 

"I'm sorry John, how was the lilo?"

 

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa," Mycroft corrected calmly.

 

"You two are ridiculous you know," I stated, looking between the two disapprovingly as though they were the children they so acted like.

 

I shook my head as Mycroft ignored my comment and questioned us about what it was like to live with Sherlock. I glared at him half heartedly whereas John responded.

 

"Well I'm never bored."

 

"Good, that's good isn't it. What about you Emily? If he ever becomes too much for you, you happen to know where I am," he said, making Sherlock pause and stare at him blankly when he stood up.

 

After Sherlock ignored his offer of the papers, Mycroft handed them to me only for me to pass them to John after a quick scan.

 

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant found dead on the tracks of the station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?" John asked.

 

"He wouldn't have come if it was that simple," I sighed, moving to stand next to Sherlock who quickly pulled me down onto his lap.

 

"Although that would be the logical assumption," Mycroft said slowly, sending a curious glance in my direction as I settled myself.

 

I was surprised by the sudden display of affection from the detective but assumed it was meant to be a power play against Mycroft as well as a warning.

 

"But, the MOD is working on a new missile defense program. The Bruce Partington program it was called. The plans for it were on a memory stick," he continued.

 

"Not very clever," John criticized, eliciting a small chuckle from the man beneath me.

 

"It's not the only copy. But it is secret, and missing," Mycroft huffed, his eye twitching in annoyance.

 

"Top secret?" John asked.

 

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick and we can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands."

 

I absentmindedly watched Sherlock clean his bow dutifully as Mycroft insisted that Sherlock had to find the plans before threatening to order him. The detective stared up at him boredly before responding.

 

"I'd like to see you try."

 

"Think it over," the elder brother retorted before shaking John's hand in a goodbye.

 

When the man approached me, I went to stand in order to give him a hug but Sherlock held me in place by my waist, forcing the air from my lungs.

 

"Sherlock," I warned, making him dejectedly release me and place his bow against the strings of his violin.

 

"Bye Mycroft," I said quietly, pulling him into a quick hug once he leaned his umbrella against Sherlock's chair.

 

"Goodbye Emily. I will be seeing you all again very soon," he responded before pulling away and returning his umbrella to his hand.

 

The government official shot us a halfhearted smile and a wave before leaving 221B while Sherlock played a fast paced, off tune melody to get him out faster. Before I could reach John's chair, he was in it and Sherlock had placed down his violin to pull me back towards him. I shifted uncomfortably and instead sat on the arm of the chair as John questioned why Sherlock told his brother that he had a case when in reality he was searching for one desperately.

 

"Sibling rivalry, now we're getting somewhere," John realized, making me laugh cheerfully.

 

"You just realized?" I giggled, making the detective sigh in annoyance.

 

We only sat for a moment more before Sherlock's phone rang, signalling the start of yet another case.

 

"Coming?" Sherlock asked John and I, already up and pulling on his coat.

 

John stood immediately, but I hesitated. The expectant look on Sherlock's face made me sigh in defeat.

 

"Better be a good one," I muttered, accepting John's offer of a coat before following the excited detective who was acting like a child on the way to a park.


	12. Breakable Facade

Unfortunately the case became more grim after we received and opened a box Scotland Yard had taken from Sherlock's flat. Inside was a pink phone similar to the one from "A Study in Pink" which soon gave us an encrypted message resembling warning orange pips. On the brighter side of things, I finally snapped and broke agent Donovan's nose after she grew a taunting smirk at the idea of Sherlock not having knowledge of the solar system. The slight smile that John and Sherlock cracked made it all the more worth it. Even Lestrade was unable to keep a smirk from appearing on his face as she was led out of the room by Anderson.

 

"Shouldn't have done that," Lestrade muttered, unable to keep the amusement from tainting his tone as Sherlock continued to study a photo of a fireplace that had come alongside the pips, the smile still prevalent on his lips.

 

"She deserved it," I shrugged as Sherlock muttered something about the familiarity of the photo before bustling outside, sure that John and I would follow.

 

"Bye Lestrade," I smiled tiredly before hugging him tightly.

 

The action made Sherlock stop in his tracks and I could almost see his hand twitch as he shot us a glare over his shoulder, eliciting a worried chuckle from Lestrade as we parted.

 

"Goodbye Em," the inspector replied as I jogged after the detective with John on my heels.

 

Outside, Sherlock was already waiting for us inside a cab but did not give us so much of a glance. Although his manners were quite horrid, I appreciated that he had at least waited for us. With a sigh of realization that the behavior likely would be present the entire ride, I slipped into the center seat. John settled beside me and the driver took off as soon as the door closed, apparently already having been told our destination. As we rode in silence, I glanced over to Sherlock who was staring back at me skeptically, as though trying to decipher a code.

 

"Sherlock?" I whispered questioningly, breaking him from his trance and causing him to avert his gaze to the window. 

 

With a sigh, I quietly placed my hand over his that was rested on his knee before holding my breath. I let out the small breath of air when he did not pull away and instead turned his hand over to intertwine my fingers with his own. It was then that I heard a soft sound of realization from beside us.

 

"Oh," John muttered, eyeing our interlocked hands with a look of accomplishment.

 

"I knew it!" he said happily, snapping Sherlock's attention to him as he gestured at our hands.

 

"No you didn't," Sherlock responded monotonously before returning to staring out the car window, but not releasing my hand and instead giving it a light squeeze. 

 

"I did," John scoffed as the cab parked beside our flat.

 

Sherlock glanced at me before climbing out of the vehicle, not releasing his grip and instead nearly sending me into the concrete of the sidewalk. Fortunately he held me up and tugged me towards him to stabilize me before looking down coldly.

 

"Sorry," he said boredly before releasing my hand and jogging inside.

 

I huffed and rolled my eyes before turning to John, probably looking quite furious as Lestrade exited his own cab and immediately went after Sherlock.

 

"What a bastard," I hissed, annoyed at my now-boyfriend's lack of manners.

 

"Just because you already got me to become you girlfriend doesn't mean you can drop the manners," I mumbled to myself as John headed into 221b after shooting me a sympathetic look.

 

After a moment of standing outside their open door like an idiot, I walked up to shut it before entering my own flat to immediately grab Echo's collar and leash.

 

"C'mon girl," I said, joy finding its way into my tone as my husky puppy lept up and down excitedly.

 

After hooking on her collar, I walked out of the flat quickly and locked it behind me. Grateful to run off some of my annoyance, I set off at a quick jog that made Echo bark in excitement as she took off beside me. The damp pavement smacked against the soles of my shoes quite loudly as we ran around the side of the block before I stopped in my tracks, pulling Echo to a stop and sending her into an aggressive stance as she recognized the man who was in our way. His dark hair and signature smirk was unforgettable along with the mad look that always seemed to reside within his eyes.

 

"James," I said curtly, staring down the man who was only slightly taller than me.

 

"Emily, how nice to see you alive and well," he responded, all too happily.

 

"Were you expecting otherwise? Am I supposed to be dead. C'mon Jim I thought we were close," I said sarcastically, nearly letting out a laugh.

 

"Oh we are close honey," he said, stepping closer to me with a grin and threading a lily into my ruffled hair.

 

"What's this about?" I questioned, holding my ground and giving a tug on Echo's leash as she growled threateningly.

 

"Just wanted to say hello, I missed you," the man responded, stepping so close that his hot breath grazed my nose.

 

"Back up," I warned tiredly.

 

Moriarty chuckled but did not step back and instead leaned towards me.

 

"I warned you," I stated calmly, letting my knife slip into my hand and allowing Echo to catch his leg between her jaws. 

 

I held my knife out in front of me threateningly as Echo dragged him to the ground.

 

"Echo," I called, making her drop him immediately and trot up beside me as I stepped backwards.

 

"See you later," Moriarty called as I turned and sprinted back towards my flat.

 

"I hope not," I called over my shoulder as Echo ran beside me, her muzzle stained with a bit of blood.

 

When I reached my flat, I bumped into Sherlock who stood outside my door.

 

"Inside," I gasped out, unlocking the door with shaky hands before yanking the detective into my flat behind me and locking the door.

 

As the adrenaline wore off, I dropped my knife and leaned against my door for support. Both Echo and I panted slightly while the meaning of the recent encounter fully hit me.

 

"Oh no," I muttered, letting my head smack against the wooden door with a loud thump.

 

"What happened?" the detective asked, glancing between me and the blood around my dog's mouth.

 

"Moriarty. He found me. That maniac is playing games with you Sherlock," I said desperately, ending with a groan.

 

"He's here?" Sherlock asked, his interest obviously piqued. 

 

"Was. After Echo tore up his leg a bit I doubt he'll be back. He surely had a sniper on me but he would never shoot me. Used to call me his favorite," I laughed mirthlessly, walking to the kitchen to grab a wet towel before rubbing Echo's muzzle gently until all signs of blood were gone.

 

"You know him. Do not tell me who he is," Sherlock said quickly.

 

"So I can't ruin your fun? Glad your interest is sparked by that madman. This man is not someone you need to get involved with, Sherlock and especially not one to play your mind games with. I figured the fact that he could have shot me would have made you realize that," I hissed at the man who stared blankly in return.

 

"But he didn't," he said calmly, making me throw my hands up in defeat.

 

"Wow," I said exhaustedly, falling gracefully into a sitting position on my couch where Echo quickly joined me.

 

"I came to tell you I am going to the lab," he stated as Echo plopped her head into my lap.

 

"Y'know I'm starting to think Moriarty might be nicer to me than you are. I'll come with you for John's sake, even though you can't relinquish your pride to ask properly," I responded, standing up and walking past the baffled detective.

 

Outside, John was waiting in a cab as though he knew that I would come along. As I listened to Sherlock exit and lock my door, I leaned down to speak to John.

 

"Please move over. Sit between us so I don't strangle him," I slightly pleaded.

 

The doctor's dark eyes met mine before he let out a curt not and slipped into the center seat. I whispered my thanks and sat beside him just before Sherlock slid in on the other side, seeming surprised at John's location but quickly hiding any trace of his confusion. 

 

"Acting like a married couple already?" John joked as the taxi slowly made its way through the busy streets.

"As if," I responded coldly before Sherlock could respond.

 

A slight expression of hurt seemed to cross over his face but it was quickly replaced by his usual bored one. I scoffed and turned to stare out of the window absentmindedly. The face of James appeared in one of the crowds traffic stopped us next to, making me choke on air and jump slightly.

 

"You alright?" the doctor asked, resting his hand on my knee comfortingly.

 

"Yea, thanks John," I responded, smiling gratefully at him before turning my attention to my jeans as I did not want to risk seeing any more unwanted figures on the streets of London.

 

A quiet huff from beside me made me glance over at Sherlock who glared daggers at John's hand.

 

"Are you seriously acting like a dick because you're jealous?" I realized with disbelief, making the detective stare at me silently.

 

His mouth opened as though he was going to speak, but no words came out. For once the detective was speechless.

 

"Sorry," John said hurriedly, retracting his hand.

 

"There's nothing to be sorry for John. Sherlock is being slightly ridiculous. Now look, for the world's greatest detective you aren't very good at reading me so read my lips. I am yours, and I am loyal. No one will take me. If I could safely ensure that the entire world knew that I would but at the moment I have a madman on my ass so you need to calmly tell me when something makes you uncomfortable," I said, locking my gaze with Sherlock's.

 

"But they want you," he mumbled, glaring at John.

 

"Sherlock," I groaned, "Even if he did it's not like he has ever acted on it."

 

"Because I threatened him," Sherlock corrected, making me look to a sheepish John for confirmation.

 

"He did..."

 

"Sherlock, you don't threaten your friends," I sighed, "If you're so worried give him some time to find a girlfriend of his own instead of dragging him everywhere."

 

When we pulled up to the lab, the cab was silent.

 

"And Sherlock, jealousy does not excuse you acting so rudely," I added before exiting the car nimbly.

 

As I power walked towards the entrance, someone caught my arm and stopped me in my tracks. I turned around to face the detective and stared up at him tiredly.

 

"You're right. I'm sorry," he said quietly, attempting to pull me into a hug.

 

As much as I wanted to fall into his embrace, I avoided his touch and jumped backwards. Moriarty's face appeared in my mind, inciting more fear that he would bring more harm to Sherlock if he learned of my predicament: my feelings for the detective. The pained expression on Sherlock's face nearly made me drop my facade, but I could not risk James or any of his employees seeing any sort of affection between the detective and I. As I thought, I did not realize that Sherlock had stepped forward. 

 

Before I could escape, his lips met mine. Panicked, I pulled away and forced a disgusted look onto my probably terror stricken face. When he approached again, I pushed at his lithe form futily. Before our lips could meet, I slapped him across the cheek and walked inside hurriedly while every part of me begged to go back to him.

 

"I'm sorry," I whispered as I heard him and John catch up with me, hoping it could reach the detective's ears.

 

My hope was diminished when I looked back to see his stony expression, and noticed the trace of a tear on his cheek.

 

"He's watching me," I told Sherlock quietly before continuing on my way.


	13. Lab Rats

The time spent in the laboratory only became increasingly awkward. As soon as we were inside and away from any possible onlookers, I reached for Sherlock's face only for him to flinch away. 

 

"I'm sorry," I said under my breath before backing up to stand beside John as the detective stared at me as though he was searching my very soul.

 

Once broken of his trance, Sherlock created and placed a slide onto the microscope before inspecting it thoroughly. 

 

"Are they trying to trace the call?" John asked.

 

"No, he's too smart for that. Hand me my phone," the detective responded.

 

I went to grab it for him but immediately thought better of it and instead retreated yet again to watch the screen flash failed results of a match for the slide Sherlock was inspecting. John rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket for the phone before reading it.

 

"Text from your brother," he informed.

 

"Delete it."

 

"Delete it?" John questioned

 

"Missile plans are out of the country by now. There's nothing we can do about it."

 

"Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you 8 times," the soldier replied.

 

My text alert went off, drawing the two men's attention to me as I went to check it.

 

"He's texting me too. I should go," I stated, glancing between the two.

 

"No," Sherlock said curtly.

 

"No?" I questioned.

 

"Moriarty," he said, never taking his eyes off of the microscope.

 

"So now you care?" I replied, shooting an accusing glare at the detective.

 

I shook my head in disbelief before rereading Mycroft's text which consisted of a question as to if I had managed to find anything on the case of Andrew West's death.

 

"Might be important," John said.

 

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock retorted.

 

"He never texts when he can call," I added quietly.

 

"Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, and got his head smashed in for it. End of story."

 

"If it were that easy why would Mycroft come to you?" I questioned, to which John nodded in agreement.

 

"The only mystery is why are you and my brother are so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting."

 

His rudeness made my blood run cold and he turned to face me. His mouth started to open as though he was going to speak but apparently he thought better of it because he quickly turned back around.

 

"Try and remember there is a woman here who might die," John sighed.

 

"What for? This hospital is full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them."

 

"Sherlock," I warned as John stared at the man in disbelief.

 

Before anyone could speak, the system managed to find a match just as Molly burst through the door seeming more bubbly than usual.

 

"Any luck?" she questioned.

 

I watched on quietly as the two looked over the results, but my eyes went wide when Moriarty came through the door.

 

"No," I muttered as he looked at me darkly before taking on a seemingly innocent facade.

 

"Jim," Molly and I chorused, although hers was much more optimistic.

 

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he said, his voice higher than usual.

 

"Come in, come in," Molly beckoned, while I slowly backed away.

 

I nearly knocked into John as the man approached, and instead took to staring the dark haired criminal down menacingly. 

 

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes," she introduced, causing a small grin to find its way onto the criminal's face.

 

"And uh..." she trailed off, gesturing at John.

 

"John Watson," he responded coldly, staring directly at me.

 

"And lastly, this is-" 

 

"We know each other," I cut in, stepping forward to stand beside John.

 

"Oh really? From where?" Molly asked.

 

"He's a friend from work."

 

My blunt statement caused little suspicion, and surprisingly James chose to save me from the awkwardness by creating more of it around himself.

 

"Hey. So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you," he said, shifting excitedly, "are you on one of your cases?"

 

"Jim works on IT upstairs.That's how we met: office romance," she giggled to Sherlock who never even gave her a glance, but after one look at James made an observation.

 

"Gay," he said before returning to his work.

 

His inaccurate deduction made me let out a quiet snicker as I realized that Moriarty had been playing that exact part intentionally.

 

"Sorry what?" Molly asked, suddenly serious.

 

"Nothing um, hey," Sherlock fake smiled to Molly's new lover.

 

"Hi," Moriarty breathed, knocking a bowl off of the table.

 

He apologized profusely and placed it back on the table before turning to leave.

 

"Bye, it was nice to meet you. And Emily, keep in touch alright?" he called over his shoulder as he walked out of the room. 

 

"What do you mean gay? We're together," Molly said as soon as James left.

 

I let out a sigh of relief but quickly followed after the supposed IT worker who was waiting for me as soon as I left the room.

 

"What are you doing?" I asked.

 

"Having a little fun. I will have you know that if you don't let Sherlock figure this out on his own, I will ensure that the three of you end up dead, or wishing you were. Goodbye love," he said sweetly before leaving me alone in the hallway.

 

When I returned, Molly and Sherlock were arguing about her weight gain while John came to stand beside me. His arm tentatively rested on my shoulder as the two argued about Jim's sexuality.

 

"You alright?" he questioned.

 

I stared over at him and took a deep breath before shaking my head miserably. The doctor tugged me into a hug while Sherlock revealed that Jim had left his number for the detective when he had picked up the dish.

 

"I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain," he finished coldly, holding the paper up for her to see. 

 

"Charming. Well done," John said disappointedly, still holding me in a warm side hug.

 

"Just saving her time, isn't that kinder?" he asked before turning to face us.

 

His eyes darkened as John continued to comfort me while I attempted to keep from shaking. 

 

"Kind? No Sherlock, that wasn't kind. First you're a complete ass to Emily and now you've managed to upset Molly," the doctor stated.

 

"She's the one who slapped me," Sherlock retorted.

 

"He'll kill you both. I did it because he would have you killed if he knew I even remotely cared for you and you went to kiss me in public," I said quietly, pushing the doctor away from me shakily.

 

"Who?" John asked.

 

"Moriarty," I responded grimly.

 

Sherlock was the first to break the silence by gesturing at the shoes and telling John to attempt to inspect them.

 

"I'm not going to stand here and have you humiliate me," John protested. 

 

I observed quietly and managed to become lost in thought until an arm around my waist brought me back into reality. While John spoke about the shoes, Sherlock stood up and held me gently while staring down at me worriedly.

 

"How'd I do?" John asked.

 

"Really well."

 

"Really?"

 

"I mean you missed almost everything of importance."

 

"Could you at least try to be less of a dick?" I asked miserably, shrinking away from the detective who looked down at me with confusion written across his face.

 

"I'm sorry Emily, for everything I have done to upset you," he said finally, after a few minutes of silence.

 

The apology made both John and I let out a surprised breath of air. A small smile made its way onto my face and I raised my hand to his still slightly red cheek gently. 

 

"I'm sorry. I should have found a different way," I sighed, placing a gentle kiss on the tender skin before tracing my finger over it.

 

"Now I believe you owe John an apology as well," I laughed as I noticed John's dejected expression, however; Sherlock remained silent and instead turned to the pair of shoes.

 

I allowed the detective to hold me against his side while he used his free arm to inspect the shoes and explain every detail he could deduce. As he neared the end of his deduction, Sherlock froze beside me before uttering a name.

 

"Carl Powers."


	14. The Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLIGHTLY sexual content in the last few paragraphs!

Sherlock had been more than happy to share the story of Carl Powers on our way back to the flat, describing the boy's case as the one where he began. Apparently, the young boy was a swimmer who came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament but drowned in the pool. It had been a case that was marked as a tragic incident by everyone other than Sherlock, and had gone right under the noses of the police. 

 

"The boy had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late," Sherlock continued, staring at John and I intently as he spoke.

 

For the rest of the drive I listened to the detective explain that the shoes had been missing which had led him to go to the police only for them to ignore him. The shoes had been missing for years, but now were in a bag sitting on Sherlock's lap. When we first arrived back at the flat, I took to playing tug o' war with Echo while Sherlock further investigated the crime. I had only been able to rest for a moment when my text alert went off.

 

 

Any developments?

-MH

 

 

I sighed and returned the phone to my pocket before standing up. When I walked up to the detective, he was too deep in thought to notice my movement and continued to study the papers in his hands.

 

"Sherlock," John called as he entered the room, "Your brother is texting me now. He did say 'national importance' so it doesn't sound like something you should be ignoring."

 

The detective rolled his eyes and glanced up at the doctor boredly after muttering something about a root canal.

 

"I'm not ignoring it, I'm putting my best man onto it right now," he corrected, still focused on his papers.

 

"Good, who is that?" John questioned, causing a knowing smirk to reach Sherlock's lips.

 

A look of realization crossed the doctor's face and he shook his head before exiting the room, once again leaving Sherlock and I alone. 

 

"Sherlock, may I help?" I asked tentatively, careful not to touch the distracted man.

 

I was greeted with no response as he hurried over to his microscope with a slide of DNA from the shoes.

 

"The fit he had in the water, if it wasn't neurological than it was likely poison. You said he suffered from eczema, it would be easy to introduce a toxin to his body that way although the autopsy did not uncover any trace of anything," I said quietly, placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder to break him from his trance.

 

A look of understanding swept across his features and the detective was immediately on his feet, turned towards me.

 

"Poison!" he exclaimed excitedly, making me shake my head in amusement.

 

"Did you find any in the DNA?" I asked, gesturing to the microscope as he took one long stride towards me and placed his hands on my waist.

 

Before I could protest, I was lifted into the air and spun for a moment before the detective's lips crashed into mine enthusiastically. My lips struggled to keep up as he kissed me frantically, as though the solution had been the most exciting thing he had ever experienced. When I was able to playfully catch his bottom lip between my teeth, John's voice interrupted us.

 

"Was I interrupting something?" he asked, embarrassment evident on his face as he stood in the now open doorway.

 

"Clostridium botulinum!" Sherlock declared proudly, his hands never moving from my waist and his eyes never leaving mine.

 

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet," I explained, pulling away from Sherlock's embrace reluctantly so that he could further elaborate.

 

"The boy suffered from eczema. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns."

 

"How come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John asked as Sherlock began to pace around the flat.

 

"It's virtually undetectable and nobody would have been looking for it," the detective said breathlessly as I placed John's open laptop down on the table in front of them.

 

John and I watched on in silence as Sherlock typed out a quick entry explaining the case and its resolution before posting it.

 

"The killer kept the shoes all these years," John realized.

 

"Yes."

 

"Meaning, he's our bomber," he added.

 

"Yes," Sherlock repeated.

 

Only moments later, the pink phone rang. The woman on the other end was nearly hysterical as she read off the final message from her captor. As she spoke, I called Lestrade who fortunately picked up after a single ring.

 

"Greg, we found her," I uttered, my voice full of relief as Sherlock called out the location of the woman so that the inspector could hear it.

 

"We'll go get her. Good work," Greg responded hurriedly before ending the call.

 

With the case completed, I sat down on the couch tiredly where Sherlock soon joined. The detectives' head fell into my lap lazily as he stared up at me, still deep in thought.

 

"Good job Sherlock, that was amazing," I praised, brushing his hair out of his face so that his eyes were unhindered.

 

Sherlock's lips curled up in a content smile as the compliment reached his ears. John said a quick goodnight before heading off to yet another girlfriend's house, leaving Sherlock and I alone in the flat.

 

"We'll have to meet with Lestrade in the morning," I sighed, running my fingers through the detective's hair absentmindedly.

 

"Hmm," was the only response I was given.

 

Sherlock seemed to be enjoying the feeling of my fingers in his hair, as when I paused for a moment he would groan in displeasure. Soon enough, his eyes fluttered closed as he further relished in the rare feeling of pleasurable human contact.

 

"Thank you for your help, Emily," the detective blurted, his eyes snapping open as though he had nearly forgotten something important.

 

"Any time Holmes," I grinned sheepishly before bending over to place a kiss on his cheek.

 

Sherlock knew what my plans were and quickly thwarted them by turning his head so that my lips landed upon his instead. His hand reached out to hold the back of my head in order to keep me from pulling away, not that I had any plans to. Noticing my uncomfortable position, Sherlock pulled me on top of him with one sharp tug. I gasped in surprise as I nearly fell off the couch, but instead landed on the detective who let out a huff of air in response. 

 

"You are amazing," he noted, as though it was a fact as simple as 1+1.

 

Before I could respond, he leaned upwards and caught my lips with his own. Once again, I playfully caught his bottom lip between my teeth and tugged gently. The action elicited an unexpected sound of pleasure from the man beneath me which only increased my confidence. Gently, I flicked my tongue across his bottom lip. He seemed to hesitate for only a moment before allowing my tongue to explore his mouth.

 

LOOK AWAY CHILDREN, FOR THE TINIEST OF LEMONS IS AHEAD

 

Meanwhile, the hand that was not holding my head made its way down my body to rest on my rear. Just as I began to feel as though I had easily won the battle for dominance, the detective gave my ass an unexpected squeeze and took advantage of my surprise by skillfully intertwining his tongue with my own before grazing the inside of my mouth. In response, I shifted so that my core was above the quickly growing bulge in Sherlock's pants. Before he could prepare himself I snapped my hips forwards, eliciting a long groan from the man beneath me.

 

Smirking, I planted a kiss on the detective's forehead before climbing off of him and returning to my original spot on the couch. His stare bore into the side of my head like a laser as I grabbed the remote to put on a show that I pretended to be interested in while the tension in the room grew exponentially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: Smut? Implied Smut? Smut in a different work that those who wish to read it can go to? No smut? Let me know what you guys are interested in reading in the comments :)


	15. Tense

To my dismay, John returned shortly after the show had begun, leaving both Sherlock and I extremely frustrated. Although I was much more obvious about my discontent than the detective. Despite my annoyance, the negative emotions quickly dissipated when I saw that John had a bag full of takeout in his arms.

 

"I got you something, since you always make Sherlock and I food I thought I'd take care of dinner for once," John beamed.

 

"He was hungry and there was a sale," Sherlock corrected from the couch as I snatched a case with my name on it from the bag before sitting down at the barely used dining table.

 

I heard John hand Sherlock his food just as I opened mine, revealing the mouth watering goodness below. The plastic fork felt like gold beneath my hands as I used it to shovel into the meal, which consisted of some sort of pasta. Cheap noodles had not tasted so good since Sam brought me some ramen after a difficult hunt. 

"Thank you," I mumbled through the heap of pasta I had forced into my mouth.

 

"No problem," John laughed, walking over to sit beside me while Sherlock merely stayed on the couch.

 

I made quick work of the mountain of pasta before deciding to call it a night. Recent events involving Moriarty were enough to dictate my decision of staying in 221B for the time being, or at least the night. One could never be too careful when it came to the criminal mastermind. Sherlock offered me his bed, which I accepted gratefully and quickly leapt into. The detective entered soon after, despite his usual sleeping habits, or lack of. 

 

"Cold?" his deep voice startled me as I curled up into the blankets.

 

"A bit. Could I borrow something to sleep in? Jeans are rather uncomfortable," I asked cautiously, staring in order to detect any reaction.

 

No words were spoken as the curly haired man went to his dresser and threw me a pair of sweats as well as a simple T-shirt.

 

"Thank you," I chirped, relieved that I would not sleep in such intolerable clothes.

 

Although I had gone many nights sleeping in regular clothes after long hunts or cases, work clothes were unpreferable to their comfortable counterparts. As I sat up to slip off my jeans, Sherlock watched nonchalantly. At his blatant staring, I cleared my throat and motioned for him to turn around. The detective's lip twitched but he turned to face the wall nevertheless. I took the time to admire the back of his lithe body as I stripped myself of my shirt and bra to pull on the shirt he had provided, sure to move quickly in order to decrease the time he was out of my sight.

 

"Alright, thank you Sherlock," I sighed earnestly, wrapping my bra in my shirt before placing it on the floor beside the bed.

 

The man turned back to face me and gave a slight nod before gesturing to the bed in which I currently resided blissfully.

 

"May I join you?" he asked quietly, his sudden shyness making me giggle.

 

"Of course! It is your bed," I laughed, rolling to one side of the bed in order to leave him room.

 

I had to force myself to avert my eyes as the detective unbuttoned and removed his shirt before turning off the light and sliding under the blanket beside me.

 

"So you're actually sleeping tonight?" I asked, turning to face him.

 

The sudden closeness of our faces seemed to create a slight air of tension in the room, but it quickly dissipated after a moment.

 

"Hopefully. This case will surely become increasingly stressful," he trailed off, shifting as though uncomfortable.

 

"Are you alright?" I asked as he rolled his shoulders which caused them to crack loudly.

 

"Fine," he said curtly.

 

"Sore? You were bending over that microscope for hours," I realized.

 

The detective stared at me, but gave no response. 

 

"Well you won't sleep well like that, may I help?" I asked tentatively, the darkness slightly obscuring my view of his face.

 

"Yes."

 

"I need you to lay on your stomach," I instructed, pulling the blankets off of both of us so that I could sit up.

 

The shifting of the mattress indicated that the detective had done as he was told, making me smile at his obedience. Carefully, I place my knees on either side of him in order to have full access to the vast expanse of his back. When my fingertips first met the cool skin of his shoulder blade, he started. The jolt nearly made me retract my hands, but I instead chose to gently rub his shoulders. My movements started off slow and soft but the pressure was soon increased as I skillfully worked out the knots of muscle that had formed in his neck and shoulders.

 

"You're tense, please relax Sherlock," I said calmly, working the balls of my palms in circles down his back.

 

His body shuddered but soon relaxed at my touch, allowing me to use my thumbs at the base of his neck to relieve any pressure caused by taut muscles or tendons. The action elicited a muffled moan from Sherlock, making me shake my head in silent laughter as I continued my ministrations. My hands made their way across his pale, yet muscled back rhythmically, only stopping when confronted with an unusual bundle of nerves or muscles. By the time I was done, the detective's breathing had slowed and he showed no signs of his usual alert nature. 

 

When my job was complete, I rolled carefully off of his body and back onto my side of thy mattress. A text alert from my phone made me sigh quietly as I snatched it off of the floor. The glowing screen displayed an unfortunate message from my boss, informing me that I would be needed the next morning. I dropped the device quietly before lowering myself back into the welcoming bed, pulling the blanket over Sherlock and I carefully. My hands were a bit tender after the strenuous task, but the soft snoring emanating from Sherlock reminded me that it was worth it. Now the detective could sleep soundly and prepare for what-or who was sure to come: Moriarty.


	16. Drive

The next morning I awoke earlier than Sherlock, and regrettably had to leave the flat in order to return to my own. I was determined to be at the asylum at the time that Mr. Jones had specified: 6am. My legs dragged along the carpet of my room as I tiredly stripped and redressed into simple clothes which my hospital scrubs soon covered. Still rubbing sleep from my eyes, I filled Echo's food dish before going outside to start up my car. 

 

The engine hummed to life in the cold morning air, allowing the heater to warm up as the minutes passed. Once I was sure the engine was heated enough, I began the somewhat tedious drive to the asylum while a song played quietly through the radio. When the asylum came into view, I received a text. Despite my curiosity, I parked in the staff lot before checking my cell phone.

 

Are you safe?

SH

 

I let out a sigh as I realized that he had not been made aware of my call into work. Guilt washed over me as I remembered I had left him alone without a word.

 

Yes. I was needed at the asylum,

I'm sorry I didn't tell you.

EM

 

After verifying that the message had been sent, I exited the car and embraced the chilled morning air. When I entered the building, I felt a slight twinge of dread but quickly pushed it away. As soon as I arrived, my boss and my friend Olson greeted me.

 

"Good morning. There has been an unusual case. A man arrived here looking for you, but he seems to have come from America according to the records. He is in obvious need of psychiatric help, I would like you to take him up as your patient."

 

My mind reeled as I thought of anyone in America who would manage to get themselves into an asylum, but unfortunately the list was all too long. As Olson led me to the patient's room, I was fully prepared to see one of the Winchesters. The sight I was greeted with however; was one I should have expected. 

 

In the room sat Castiel who stared blankly at the wall. Despite his previous nonchalant behavior, the angel grew a grin when he caught sight of me.

 

"Who is he?" Olson pried.

 

"Not a clue," I sighed, pushing him out and shutting the door.

 

"Cas! Why are you here?" I questioned, turning my gaze back to the angel only to find empty space in the place he once sat. 

 

"Great!" I muttered, flopping onto the bed and pulling out my phone to send both Winchester brothers a text.

 

I found the angel. He

showed up at the asylum.

EM

 

"Aren't they wonderful?" 

 

Castiel's voice and sudden reappearance startled me, causing my phone to clatter to the floor. When I looked over at him, he had some sort of golden sticky sap on both of his arms.

 

"Is that honey?" I asked gently, hoping to gain some answers from the frazzled seraph.

 

"Yes, it makes the bees more open to my company. They're quite beautiful," he hiccuped, as though drunk.

 

"Cas-"

 

"Not as beautiful as you though. You're very pretty," he said, matter of factly.

 

I sighed in defeat and patted the spot on the mattress beside me.

 

"What happened to you?" I questioned helplessly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of his face absentmindedly.

 

An obvious blush crossed the angel's features, but all he did was stare at me for a moment before holding out his finger.

 

"Pull it," he giggled childishly.

 

"If I do, will you return to the Winchesters?" I pleaded.

 

"Yes."

 

"Promise?"

 

"I promise, pull it," he implored, a large grin on his face.

 

With a sigh, I reached out and pulled his finger. The light fixture above us exploded into a shower of sparks and when the flash was finished, the angel had disappeared. Hoping he had kept his promise, I snatched up my phone and strolled out of the room, walking to the exit and opening it before allowing it to shut again in order to provide a bit more evidence for the story I would have to tell my boss. 

 

Conveniently, Mr. Jones and I bumped into each other as I hurried on to my next patient: Ivy Gralvin. 

 

"The patient was an old friend of mine, an imbecile really, he was faking his insanity to give me a surprise visit. I have already shown him out. I apologize, it will not happen again," I explained, staring the man down with false sincerity. 

 

My story was bought and achieved me a quick nod of understanding from the obviously busy man before he rushed off down the hallway. I shrugged and headed to Ivy's room, clipboard in hand with her file open. She truly suffered from nothing other than horrid parents, who had taken her meds to use them recreationally, leaving their daughter to suffer from increasingly intense episodes. Before I entered, I checked my phone a final time to read a message I had received from Sherlock.

 

There is another puzzle to solve,

and another victim. Come to 

the flat this afternoon at 2

if you are able.

SH

 

I let out a sigh and walked into Ivy's room, where the dark haired teenager sat on her bed in silent boredom.

 

"Good morning, how are you feeling today?" I began, preparing to take notes that were almost unnecessary in her situation.

 

The rest of the morning flew by and soon I found myself back in my vehicle, reading a text from Sherlock that had come in as soon as I sat down. It was as though he knew I would be done at that exact time. I rolled by eyes but put the address he had sent me into the GPS on my phone before placing it on the dash with the volume turned up. The drive was pleasantly short, but my time of near happiness was cut short when I pulled up into a lot that had become a crime scene which unfortunately had Donovan standing in it.

 

When I stepped out of my car, I immediately walked over to John who was watching as Sherlock inspected the car which had blood staining the front seat. As soon as I arrived, Donovan was at my side to make a snarky comment.

 

"So you're still hanging around him?" 

 

"And you're still a bitch." I retorted curtly, making John lightly elbow me in the ribs.

 

"You should get yourselves a hobby. It would be quite a bit safer."

 

My eyes met Sherlock's just as he stood straight after searching through the car.

 

"No body," he stated.

 

"Not yet," Donovan corrected, crossing her arms.

 

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock told Lestrade before walking off, beckoning for me to follow.

 

I was able to watch Donovan's expression go from smug to exasperated as Lestrade gave her the order to get samples per Sherlock's request. After reveling in the sergeant's annoyance, I went to stand beside John as Sherlock put on a sad act to get information out of the 'victim's' wife. Before I knew it, Sherlock was on the move once again, leaving John and I to follow briskly despite our strides being quite shorter than the detective's. 

 

"Did you notice? I referred to her husband in the past tense, she joined in. A bit premature, they only just found the car."

 

"You think she murdered her husband?" John asked.

 

"Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

 

"So she knew about it, helped plan it maybe?" I added quietly.

 

"Fishing," Donovan called out, making me clench my fists in annoyance as I continued to jog after Sherlock.

 

"Try fishing," she repeated, just as Sherlock noticed my struggle and slowed down a bit.

 

"Where are we going?" I asked as John turned back to nod at the sergeant.

 

"Janus Cars," Sherlock informed, handing me a card.

 

"I found this in the glove compartment. Will you drive us?" he asked as I inspected it.

 

"Of course," I replied as we approached my vehicle, John close behind.

 

I held in a laugh as John went to ride shotgun, only to be stopped in his tracks by a silent glare from Sherlock. The doctor dejectedly sat in the back as the detective slid into the seat beside mine and shot me the tiniest of smiles. 

"Where is this place?" I asked as I pulled out into the heavy London traffic.

 

"I'll give you directions," Sherlock responded.

 

"Alright. Don't get us lost, and you two better have your damn seat belts on," I stated, not taking my eyes off the road but the sound of two seat belts frantically being pulled into place told me that I was right to remind them.


	17. Boundaries

As we entered the office of the owner of Janus Cars, I felt quite out if place. It would seem I was just Sherlock's little pet at the moment, following him around and providing input as needed. The thought disgusted me, but with a civilian's life on the line I kept my complaints to myself.

 

Boredom overtook me rapidly while the men talked, but when Sherlock asked for money for a cigarette, my attention returned. I shot him a disapproving glare but took notice of the foreign money in the man's wallet.

 

My eyebrow raised in curiosity but I said nothing as the man shrugged apologetically and informed Sherlock that he had no change.

 

"Alright thank you so much for your time, you've been very helpful," Sherlock stated before ushering me out of the door while John followed close behind.

 

As we headed to the car, I heard John offer Sherlock spare change and glanced back at him in annoyance.

 

"Nicotine patches remember? I'm doing well," Sherlock responded, alleviating my worry with a wave of his hand.

 

"What was that all about then?" John questioned.

 

"It gave us a look inside his wallet," I responded quietly.

 

"Exactly. Mr Ewart is a liar," Sherlock added, stalking off in the direction of the road to hail a taxi.

 

My shorter legs made it so that I was forced to jog to keep up with the detective's long strides, and I noticed John struggling behind me as well. When we reached the cab, Sherlock turned to me.

 

"Will you come with me to the lab? I'm going to run some tests on the blood that was on the seat."

 

"Of course," I responded, reaching to open the door as John walked off to find another cab to bring him back to the flat.

 

Sherlock's hand darted out to grab the handle and he had opened the door for me before I had the chance to protest. Despite the fact that we were in public, the polite nature of his actions made me smile up at him gratefully as I slipped into the center seat of the cab. Once the man had slid in beside me and closed his door, I took Sherlock's cold hand into my own and squeezed it gently. The detective stared down inquisitively at our interlocked hands, tilting his head ever so slightly before raising his gaze to meet my own. I grinned sheepishly at him before burying my face in his shoulder to hide my embarrassment.

 

Sherlock tensed and shifted as though uncomfortable, making me pull away with a jumbled apology cascading from my lips. The detective watched me intensely, holding me captive under his scrutinous gaze. I fell silent and shifted uncomfortably under the inspection, but still watched him cautiously as though he was a snake ready to strike at me: his unsuspecting prey. 

 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," I repeated, my voice shaky under the watchful gaze of Sherlock.

 

Although the detective often was deemed inhuman, I had never realized how confused he could become in the face of anything to due with sentiment. As the cab approached the lab, I finally broke under his gaze and averted mine to the window. I could have sworn I had seen some emotion within his normally stoic expression as I did so, but my embarrassment would not allow me to take another glance to see if it was merely a trick of the light. My eyes closed to allow my mind to stop racing with foolish doubts and I chose to keep them that way until we were to reach the laboratory. 

 

The more childish side of me hoped that Sherlock would hold me close, but I was well aware that any form of affection from the man would be rare and should be considered a privilege. I had pushed his limits, as displays of affection with him were rarely loving and more often fueled by waves of desire rather than emotion. It would also seem that he had something on his mind in regards to our relationship, or lack of, and I figured I had incited a flurry of thoughts in his usually orderly mind. A sigh escaped my lips at the realization of the lost progress regarding the breaking of the detective's walls. When we arrived at our destination, I felt the cab stop and held my breath. My mouth opened to speak, but before I could find the words the sound of a car door slamming caused my eyes to snap open. 

 

Sherlock was gone, and from what I could see through the window, he had headed inside already. I took a deep breath, thanked the cabbie quietly, and followed the detective. My every movement was stiff as walked through the entrance and towards the lab where I knew Sherlock would be working. Before I entered, I attempted to pull myself together in order to seem as cool and collected as the detective always seemed to be, but when Sherlock ignored my existence and instead focused entirely on a blank computer screen as it loaded, my facade began to slip. The positive aspect to him ignoring me, was that he was likely oblivious to my emotions. 

 

After a moment of silence, I quietly prepared a slide with a small drop of the blood and placed it under the microscope for him. Once the slide was settled, I took a seat on a spare stool that seemed precariously balanced and pulled out my phone just as it buzzed with a text notification.

 

I am growing impatient 

with my brother. Please talk 

some sense into him. This

is a matter of national 

importance

                                  MH

 

I glanced from my screen to inspect the detective and shook my head with a nearly inaudible sigh. For the first time since I had arrived, Sherlock looked at me, but it did not last long as he turned back to the microscope nearly immediately after we made eye contact.

 

I'm afraid I can't. I messed up.

He will not listen to me 

either, I think I made him 

even more closed off than

usual :(

                                     EM

 

I reviewed the text once before sending it and returning the device to my pocket.

 

"My brother is still bothering you," Sherlock declared, not removing his eyes from the equipment but at least he was talking to me.

 

"I wouldn't call it bothering," I replied absentmindedly, not realizing the implication the statement could have.

 

The detective scoffed and disgust graced his usually calm features as he turned to face me.

 

"Sherlock that's not what I meant-"

 

"You're honestly interested in him, of all people?" he hissed, standing in front of me with only two long strides.

 

I shrunk back which caused me to lose my balance on the damaged stool and fall. My head hit the corner of the counter, eliciting a yelp of pain from my lips. My vision went fuzzy for a moment but when it cleared I noticed the detective still standing above me angrily.

 

"Sherlock," I murmured, my vision fading in and out.

 

"You care for my brother," he muttered in disbelief, as though in a trance.

 

"I care for you, idiot," I mumbled as loud as my voice would allow, "Why do you care anyways? It is not as though you and I are together."

 

My voice trailed off at the end as I took notice of the look of confusion that crossed Sherlock's features, and my mouth closed entirely when I noticed slight hurt in his eyes that was rapidly covered with a facade of apathy.

 

"You never did ask me," I added quietly, sitting up and holding my head while staring up at the detective.

 

Sherlock looked down at me for a considerable length of time before disdainfully offering me a hand and helping me to my feet.

 

"Thank you Sherlock," I croaked, another wave of dizziness crashing into me and nearly returning me to my previous location on the floor.

 

Surprisingly, the detective caught me by my shoulders instead of allowing me to collapse again. When my vision fully returned, I smiled up at him softly and took in his facial features to commit them to memory. Cautiously, I reached up and pushed a stray curl from his face before backing away and picking up the stool. Sherlock's hand rested on my forearm as though to turn me to face him, but the ringtone of the pink phone interrupted us and sent the detective scrambling for the device.

 

My pounding head did not allow for much of the conversation to be processed, but I faintly heard the unfortunate man on the other end of the line.

 

"The clue's in the name: Janus Cars."

 

"Two faced god, they offer a much darker service than just car rentals. You were checking if the blood had been frozen," I realized when the call ended, my voice only a whisper as I fell against a wall for support.


	18. Agony

Sherlock had brought me home and called for John as soon as we arrived at their flat. The doctor appeared shortly after, wide eyed and breathing a bit heavy. As I rested on the couch, my vision faded in and out. John shook his head and rushed over just as I allowed exhaustion to overtake me. 

 

When I woke, it was to the sound of my cell phone ringing obnoxiously. My head already pounding, I answered it with my eyes closed just as I heard the door to Sherlock's room slam shut.

 

"Abigail," Sam's tired voice greeted.

 

With a groan, I responded dryly.

 

"What is it?" 

 

"Dean and Cas. They're gone," he informed, voice cracking painfully.

 

My breath caught in my throat, and the phone began to slip from my aching fingers. The rest of the flat was silent, its occupants unaware of the current predicament.

 

"How?" I choked out, trying to be as quiet as possible.

 

"Leviathan. Bobby is dead too, Crowley took the prophet of the lord, remember Kevin?"

 

"Yes. If you ever need a place to stay, I have a flat here in London. Keep in touch Sammy."

With that I gave a shaky goodbye before hanging up and letting the device to drop from my loose grip and only the floor. As I turned to face the room once more, my gaze fell upon a familiar lean figure who's blue eyes bore into my own intently.

 

"How long was I out?" I asked, unable to keep the anguish out of my tone despite my best attempts.

 

"Long enough. About two days now. The bomb went off," Sherlock responded, gesturing to the television which played the news of 12 dead in another supposed gas leak.

 

"What happened?" I questioned.

 

"He gave me another case. I solved it but this time his hostage was a blind woman. She began to describe his voice to me before I could stop her," he responded apathetically before returning his gaze to the wall.

 

I nodded curtly before allowing Dean and Cas to come to mind. Almost immediately, my body was wracked with silent sobs as I cried into my sleeve. The pounding in my head only increased over time, so I dried my puffy eyes for the time being and went to stand. 

 

"Don't" Sherlock warned, walking over and arriving at my side just as I got dizzy.

 

"It wasn't your fault by the way," I said shakily, referring to the woman he had not managed to save.

 

"John doesn't seem to see it that way," Sherlock snorted, holding me up by my arm and looking down at me questioningly.

 

"Why are you crying?" he questioned.

 

The temperature of the room felt as though it dropped a few degrees with his question, and the lights seemed to only intensify.

 

"It's nothing. I'm more interested in what you were thinking about yesterday, in the cab?"

 

A sigh fell from the detective's lips and he ran a hand through his unruly mess of hair. Instead of responding, he picked me up gently and brought us to his room. I felt myself lowered carefully onto the bed and my eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, my head much preferring the darkness. 

 

"I'm sorry for whatever I said to upset you, Sherlock," I murmured drearily, my heart still racing with the thought that my friends had so recently passed away.

 

"Don't. You uhm... It's just that, well, you deserve better. This entire situation is new to me, and it is not in my nature to be as... affectionate, as you deserve. I do not yet understand these emotions now that I am the one experiencing them... at least I think I am. It's not just sentiment, and you are never going to be safe within miles of me. I cannot tell if you are happy with me or..." he stuttered, trailing off at the end and gripping his hair tightly as he struggled to convey his message.

 

My eyes narrowed at the sight of the detective, and my hand reached up to grip his wrist and gently remove it from the hair he was tugging on mercilessly. A small smile graced my lips, but it did not reach my eyes. My mind was still elsewhere, and it was difficult to keep it occupied with the task at hand.

 

"If you're ever feeling unsure, you can always just ask. If anything is wrong you can just bring it up," I said quietly, stroking his hair lightly where he had been previously pulling.

 

A low hum emanated from the detectives chest as he lifted me up so that my body rested against him. My head fell on his shoulder, and my eyes closed as I breathed in his scent. It was then that memories of Cas, as well as Dean crossed my mind yet again. 

 

"What happened to make you so upset?" Sherlock questioned once again, stroking the top of my head lightly as tears fell from my eyes yet again.

"Dean and Cas are dead," I groaned, shuddering as the words left my lips.

 

The statement made the news all to real, leaving me feeling cold despite the warmth of the detective against me. I felt him tense up as I cried, and struggled to control myself. Finally, his baritone voice broke the silence.

 

"I don't... I don't know what to-" he trailed off sadly.

 

With a shake of my head, I brought him as close to me as possible before slowly lowering myself. The detective allowed me to pull him down with him and shifted so that he was on his back and I laid above him, my head on his chest.

 

"You don't have to say anything. Please, just stay," my voice broke, the memory of the older Winchester's bright green eyes ripping through my mind and leaving my heart shredded and torn.

 

"Alright," Sherlock agreed, tentatively resting his hand on my back as I glanced up at him to ensure he was comfortable.

 

"Is this ok?" I asked softly.

 

"Of course," he replied, using his free hand to push my face against his neck and allowing my to nuzzle against it as he rested his chin on my head.

 

The memory of the blue eyed, selfless angel and the brave man I saw as my brother haunted me constantly. The pain did not fade and instead increased in intensity as time went on. Shouts of emotional anguish left my lips and my sobs were nearly unending throughout the night. Guilt in regards to the fact that I had left the Winchesters so long ago and was not there to ensure the safety of the so-called "Team Free Will" only amplified my pain. Despite the heartbreaking sobs ripping their way through my throat, and the shouts that left my lips whenever I came close to sleep, the detective stayed with me, his hand never ceasing its comforting motion. 

 

When my throat was finally too swollen to release any more noise and my teary eyes had finally run dry, I was able to hear soft humming emanating from the man below me. The ghost of a smile crossed my raw face as I adjusted so that I could better breathe. The detective continued to hum as he carefully sat us up to remove his tear stained robe, fortunately having worn pants under for once. My breathing began to steady as he lowered back down into the mattress and held me against his chest. The pain was far from gone and my mind continued to race, but the low, melodic tune coming from the man slowly lured me into a quiet sleep.


	19. An Invitation

I woke up only a few hours later and was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock still below me, his hand still resting on my back. My eyes were swollen and difficult to open, but the room was fortunately dark enough to not cause too much more irritation. Although it was still extremely early, I knew that I would be unable to find sleep again and decided to be content with the time I had. A blanket had been pulled over the two of us, leaving the space beneath it warm. When I rolled off of Sherlock and out from under it, the cold air nipped at my bare arms sharply. 

 

Sherlock's eyes opened and he groaned tiredly, eliciting a small but genuine smile from me. After placing a small kiss on his forehead, I sat on the bed beside him and gently took his warm hand into my own.

 

"Go back to sleep," I murmured, stroking his hand lightly as he took in his surroundings.

 

The detective mumbled out something in refusal, but his fluttering eyelids soon betrayed him as they covered his bright eyes. A giggle escaped my lips as his breathing slowed once again, and I carefully unwove our hands so that I could leave without waking him. Once standing, I turned for a moment to see the man reaching towards me weakly in his sleep and smiled softly. Perhaps he really did care, but I had no proof that I was not merely one of his experiments after the events in the cab and at the lab. An overwhelming sense of numbness washed over me as the detective's hand dropped and he rolled over. 

 

After leaving the room I carefully closed the door behind me, my heart softening at the sight of the man with his mess of dark curls in a more unruly mop than usual. My cell phone was still on the floor where it had been dropped, and it glared at me tauntingly. With shaky hands, I lifted it from its resting place and lethargically entered the code. My breath caught in my throat as it unlocked tantalizingly slowly. Once my heart calmed, I typed out a message to Sam.

 

You should stay with me    

for a few weeks here in 

London. The address is

221C Baker Street, hope 

you stop by. If I'm not home,

go to 221B

                                      AW

 

My heart thumped violently against my chest as I sat on the floor, leaning on the edge of the couch for support. It was not long after when the sound of Sherlock's door closing echoed throughout the otherwise quiet building. Echo trotted over from her bed by the fireplace and dropped her head into my lap tiredly, staring up at me with kind eyes. Meanwhile, the detective made his way over to me quietly, now dressed in a robe. His stare turned critical as he approached, and he paused for only a moment before offering me a hand.

 

"At least sit on the couch," he said disapprovingly.

 

"You find my feelings of sentiment disappointing," I noted, taking his hand regardless as he pulled me to my feet before allowing me to sit on the sofa.

 

Sherlock stared searchingly for a moment before shaking his head and sitting beside me. I ignored him and fixed my gaze to the adjacent wall as my mind wandered to Moriarty. For once, the thought of him was almost pleasant in comparison to the alternatives. I began to question his motives, as well as to what extent he would go to in order to keep Sherlock interested in his little game and how long the game would be enough for him before he increased the stakes. We sat for what felt like hours before Sherlock's hand tentatively brushed against my own, causing me to jump in surprise as he brought me out of the confines of my mind. The detective carefully wove his fingers between my own while I watched skeptically. As he opened his mouth to speak, John arrived and quietly watched the news after bading us a quiet good morning.

 

"How are you feeling Emily? That was a nasty blow you managed to give yourself," the doctor asked, taking in my weary expression and keeping the television volume low as to keep from strengthening my headache.

 

"About as well as I look," I responded coldly, watching the blonde carefully as he further inspected me.

 

"Bloody hell, have you been crying?" he questioned finally, making Sherlock shoot him a warning glare.

 

I stared the doctor down, but did not bother to confirm or deny his deduction. After a few minutes of awkward silence, John stood up and walked over before beckoning for me to do the same. My eyes narrowed and Sherlock tensed beside me, but the sincere concern on John's face got the best of me. I pushed myself onto my feet, nearly throwing myself off balance only to be caught by the doctor who wrapped his arms around me comfortingly.

 

"What happened?" he asked, his voice quiet and soothing.

 

"Two of her friends are dead," Sherlock informed, his tone dripping with hostility.

 

"I can see that you are being as heartless as ever. No wonder she is still so shaken up," John scolded, pulling away but keeping a hand on my shoulder.

 

I stood under the doctor's scrutinous gaze as Sherlock stood, his face twisted into a slight sneer.

 

"I have done-"

 

"Obviously not enough. She needs a bath and some food," John cut him off, still staring at me intently.

 

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled.

 

"Even if Ms. Hudson makes pancakes?" he baited, smiling as my eyes lit up in excitement and I gave a short nod.

 

"That's settled then," he said finally, pushing me in the direction of the bathroom, "Go take a bath. Doctor's orders."

 

On my way to the bathroom, the indignant detective pushed past me and entered first. By the time I entered, he was staring at me silently as the bath filled. 

 

"I'll run it for you?" he said, his tone uncertain as he scanned me for any sign of a reaction.

 

"Sherlock, John's just upset. You don't have to do anything for me."

 

"Will it please you?" he interrogated, his bright blue orbs never leaving my own.

 

"Sherlock-"

 

"Then I will... spoil you-as people put it. Just tell me what you want-"

 

I stopped his rambling by placing a soft kiss on his lips, silencing the detective. I shook my head at his bewildered expression before gently guiding him out of the bathroom and closing the door once he was out. A sigh escaped my lips as I pondered the detective's unusual behavior, but I supposed it was simply because John had set him off. He seemed to feel the need to prove himself to me, or perhaps to himself. 

 

The steaming bath stared at me temptingly as I turned to face it. With a small smile on my face at Sherlock's attempt to be kind, I rid myself of my clothes and slid into the hot water. A feeling of contentment washed over me as my body became accustomed to the heat. I sat until the water began to cool before standing up and draining the tub. It was only when I turned to face the door that I realized something was missing: a towel.


	20. Breakfast

"Sherlock," I called out nervously, walking over to stand before the closed door in case it was to open.

 

The man responded almost instantly, apparently having never left. 

 

"I'll grab it."

 

The sound of receding footsteps caused my legs to go weak with embarrassment. The quickly cooling air of the room sent shivers down my spine as the detective returned. Before I could warn him, the door swung partially open. I held the door before it could open fully and snatched the towel from his outstretched hand, quickly wrapping it around me. 

 

"S-sorry," Sherlock stuttered, staring at the floor as the door opened entirely.

 

My first instinct was to be angry at him, but the sincere embarrassment on his face elicited a sigh instead of a shout of indignation. Calmly, I ensured my towel was secure before walking up to the detective and taking his hand into my own.

 

"Thank you," I smiled, standing on my toes to press a gentle kiss to his temple before kneeling to pick up my dirty clothes and slipping past him as he stood, frozen, in the doorway.

 

"Pancakes are ready!" John shouted as the detective snapped back into reality and followed me into the room.

 

As soon as Sherlock entered the room, he carefully shut the door behind him before turning around. The detective eyed me for a moment before coming up to me in two long strides. 

 

"Are you alright?" he asked cautiously, copying my previous actions by grabbing my hand gently.

 

His breath was hot against my face, making it difficult to focus on anything other than his tantalizingly soft lips. My eyes flicked up to meet his questioningly as he went rigid. I watched as he inspected my reaction when he carefully rested his hands on my hips. A soft smile reached my lips and I nodded reassuringly. Evidently, that was all of the information the detective needed because it was only a moment later that his lips were moving against mine. As short as I am, it was difficult to reach him without allowing the towel to slide down my body as he curved his entire body into my own, making me lean back slightly. The kiss was cut short by Sherlock who pulled away and scanned my face for any sign of a reaction.

 

"I'm sorry," he began, "are you sure this is o-"

 

"Just kiss me," I whispered hoarsely, grabbing his collar to pull him towards me.

 

One of his hands entangled itself into my wet hair and pulled gently as to tilt my head back as his lips captured my own roughly. Our lips moved in unison for a moment before I caught his lip between my teeth an gently tugged. A sharp breath escaped the detective as I followed up the bite by running my tongue over his bottom lip questioningly. His lips parted and his tongue immediately met mine, resisting for only a moment before I tugged at his hair to catch him guard. While his guard was down, I slipped my tongue into his mouth momentarily and explored while I could until his own tongue fought back with new furiosity. Soon enough he was exploring the cavern of my mouth expertly and guiding me backwards.

 

We stumbled over each other but kept our balance long enough for me to reach the wall and fall against it gently without separating. A tug on my hair forced me to tilt my head back once again and expose my neck. The detective smirked at me, a carnal glint in the only part of his iris not covered by his extremely dilated pupils. As I lowered my hand to his wrist, Sherlock began planting gentle, teasing kisses on the most sensitive areas of my neck. After only a moment, his lips fell upon my sweet spot and I froze instinctively. 

 

"Found it," he murmured before nipping at the spot hard enough to leave a mark.

 

A sharp gasp fell from my lips as he gently ran his warm tongue over the same area before he sucked on it roughly. One of his hands brushed the inside of my thigh just as he nibbled at the skin of my neck again, eliciting a soft moan from me as I felt my core grow increasingly hotter. Both of our breathing was heavy when a loud knock on the door caused us both to leap apart.

 

"Before they get cold - oh," John muttered, noticing the position we were in as he swung the door open.

 

"I'll be right out," I blushed, sliding out of the detective's grip and going to grab some clothes.

 

The doctor shook his head with a smile before shutting the door once again.

 

"Sherlock, can I borrow some clothes? I'll have to go grab some from my house when I get the chance. Preferably when your game with Moriarty is finished, as I would rather not have him see me walk over wearing your clothing."

 

The disheveled detective walked over to hand me a pair of sweats and a shirt from one of his drawers, still watching my every move intensely.

 

"Thank you," I said quietly, kissing his cheek before backing away.

 

"Could you uhm... Could you leave for a moment? Or at least turn around?" I asked, running my fingers through the mess I had made of his dark curls.

 

"I'm sorry-" he started apologetically.

 

"Sherlock for god's sake, that was amazing and if there weren't pancakes waiting I would do it again. You have nothing to apologize for, now turn around," I cut him off, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

 

A look of shock momentarily crossed his features, and he reached a hand up to my face slowly as his eyes conveyed his confusion.

 

"It shouldn't come as a shock, you're fucking amazing," I muttered before gently turning him to face the wall.

 

I dressed quickly, not bothering to dry off as the excitement for pancakes and the tension in this room was enough to quicken my pace. Once finished, I took Sherlock's hand into my own and dragged him out towards the welcoming smell of breakfast.


	21. A Walk In the Park

Unfortunately, Moriarty was the topic of conversation during breakfast. I remained silent, my eyes glued to my plate as the two men discussed the criminal. My exhaustion kept my mind in a calm, sedated state as I listened to Sherlock and John absentmindedly.

 

"Do you think he wants to be caught?" John questioned.

 

"I think he wants to be distracted," the detective breathed, fingers pressed against his lips.

 

A dry chuckle from John brought me to my senses somewhat, allowing me to focus as the tension in the room grew.

 

"You'd be very happy together," John stated, pushing himself onto his feet before walking to stand behind his chair.

 

The doctor's words seemed to surprise the detective, who's eyes were narrowed in confusion.

 

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock. Actual human lives - just so I know do you care about that at all?" John asked, the words leaving his lips at a rapid pace as he struggled to contain his annoyance.

 

"Will caring about them help save them?"

 

"Nope," John stated curtly, chewing his lip and shaking his head.

 

"Then I will continue not to make that mistake."

 

"And you find that easy do you?'

 

"Yes, very," Sherlock responded, turning his head towards the blonde with an eyebrow raised.

 

"Is that news to you?" he added.

 

"No - No." John breathed, chuckling dryly once again.

 

"I've disappointed you," Sherlock noted as I cautiously brought my plate to the kitchen and placed it into the sink.

 

"That's good. Good deduction, yea."

 

"Don't make people into heroes John. Heroes don't exist and if they did I wouldn't be one of them," the detective stated coldly.

 

A soft sigh left my lips as Echo growled in annoyance at the tension, so as the two men stared each other down I beckoned her over and left silently. As soon as the door closed behind me, I let out the breath I had been holding and headed next door to my own flat. As I went to open the door, I realized that the it was already unlocked. My body tensed as the empty space in my sleeve became increasingly apparent, as the knife that I usually kept there was still in Sherlock's room. 

 

"Come in," Moriarty's sing-song voice beckoned, making me take a shaky step backwards and lock my gaze on the door.

 

"I wouldn't," he warned as I considered running, "I'll have them both killed."

 

Echo's fur bristled as I swung the door open harshly, letting it slam against the wall as I stormed into the flat.

 

"Why the hell are you in my flat?" I sighed, crossing my arms and tapping my foot as I glared at the dark figure sitting on my couch.

 

"Just visiting. Thought I'd pop in to say hello," he replied snarkily, rolling his eyes and leaning back into the couch comfortably.

 

"Look, I need to go for a walk," I stated.

 

The criminal pouted, but the emotion did not reach his eyes. I steadied my breathing as best I could before carefully retrieving my coat from the hook on the wall and glaring at him pointedly. With a soft sigh, I spun on my heel and whistled to catch Echo's attention.

 

"Whatever you're here for, you can tell me while we walk," I said quietly, not daring to glance back at the criminal on my couch.

 

The cool London air bit at me through my layers of clothing as the telltale sound of footsteps from behind me ended the silence. I froze as I felt his presence behind me, and shivered when his hot breath fanned out across my neck.

 

"Alright Princess. Let's walk," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

 

A growl from Echo made him take a short step back, but did nothing to keep him from following me as I walked down the unusually empty sidewalk of Baker Street. The dog jogged beside me leisurely, never getting too far ahead as Jim's presence kept her on edge.

 

"How's the leg?" I smirked, noticing the slight limp in his gait.

He stuck his tongue out at me childishly, but his eyes still remained dull and lifeless. It was as though he was a dead man walking, and the limp did nothing to make it seem otherwise.

 

"So. What is it you want?" I asked finally, turning the corner of the block to head towards the park.

 

"Aw well it wouldn't be any fun if I told you now would it."

 

I stopped walking to raise an eyebrow in his direction and cross my arms.

 

"Jim."

 

"I think it's fairly obvious."

 

"If you want to get to Sherlock, I'm really the last person you should be talking to right now. The man's a bloody sociopath," I laughed, struggling to sound genuine.

 

"We both know that isn't quite true. Either way, this little game is beginning to bore me so I will be starting a new one. I will kill Sherlock Holmes," He started, "Unless, you come with me."

 

I tilted my head before gesturing for him to continue walking as our current position could easily draw attention. Echo's tongue lolled out as we continued our journey, her pace increasing as she realized our destination.

 

"Well, I'm already here," I mused, careful to avoid looking at the man and instead focusing on the husky bounding ahead of us.

 

"Not yet. Soon we will all more than likely have a little meeting. Until then, feel free to continue doing whatever it is you do but know that when the time comes you will join me, or the posh boy will die." 

 

"And why is it you want me?" I questioned, attempting to keep my tone steady.

 

The man tilted his head coyly before reaching out to stop me in my tracks. My hand twitched out of habit as my phone vibrated in my pocket, but a pointed look from Moriarty kept me from checking it.

 

"So long, Princess," he whispered, a devious grin that still did not quite reach his eyes plastered on his face.

 

A shaky breath fell from my lips as a dark car with tinted windows pulled up beside us, and the tenseness left my muscles when he carefully slid in after shooting me a wink. Once the man was out of sight, I tentatively pulled my phone from my pocket to see that there was a message from Sherlock as well as a missed call from Mycroft. My gaze drifted from the screen to Echo who stood a few feet ahead, her tail wagging rapidly in excitement. I took a deep breath before carefully placing my phone back into my pocket and setting off at a jog in the direction of the park, the husky at my side.


	22. Arrival

Echo and I were at the park for hours before finally the canine was out of energy. The sky was already beginning to darken by the time I sat down on a bench to check my phone. I rolled my eyes at the rather repetitive message from Mycroft who was once again inquiring about the case of Andrew West. Then, my gaze fell upon the multiple texts from the younger Holmes brother and my heart clenched. Some of the messages were about yet another case given by the bomber. One in particular informed that one of the victims had been an astronomer: a seemingly pointless piece of information but if Sherlock found it important enough to tell me it could not me as meaningless as one would think.

 

Maybe I should not have ignored him for so long, after all who knows how long I will have the opportunity to talk to him at all. As I scanned the messages, yet another came through.

 

Meet us at the gallery.

SH

 

I was on my feet immediately which caught Echo's attention. The traffic was too busy for me to catch a cab and make it there in any decent amount of time, so I collected myself in an attempt to prepare for the run but the sound of my phone vibrating once again caught my attention. Sherlock had added to his previous message.

 

Please

 

With that, I sent a quick reply and took off at a run. Echo panted heavily but stayed beside me as we wove our way through the streets of London, nearly knocking down several tourists in the process. My breathing was labored by the time I burst through the doors of the museum and shoved my way into the room the Vermeer was being held in. Inside were Sherlock, John, Lestrade, and an unknown woman who presumably worked here.

 

"Hello," I greeted tiredly, walking up to stand beside the detective and the doctor just as the pink phone went off.

 

"Would you mind showing yourself and your... friends, out?" the worker asked distastefully.

 

"Right on time," I sighed and stroked Echo's head as the woman glared at me, annoyed that I had brought a dog inside.

 

"The painting is a fake," Sherlock stated.

 

Despite the accuracy of his claim, there was no response.

 

"It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairnes were killed," he added, glancing up at me with a masked look of hopelessness that could only be discerned from his bright eyes.

 

"Oh come on," he groaned, "Proving it is just a detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out."

 

I quietly observed the Vermeer, but having less of the facts than Sherlock made it difficult for me to find any problems.

 

"It's a fake, that's the answer, that's why they were killed."

 

John and Lestrade began to look worried as Sherlock took in a sharp breath before he spoke again.

 

"Ok. I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

 

"Ten."

 

The temperature seemed to drop a good few degrees when a child's voice called out the number in a shaky voice. 

 

Sherlock began scanning the Vermeer intently, attempting to glean any new information from it while simultaneously reviewing what he already knew.  
"Sherlock it has to be something with the location or arrangement of the objects. Likely the stars or planets since one of the men was an astronomer."

 

The detective's gaze snapped towards me before returning to the painting. He stared at it and mumbled for only a moment before turning back to me with a maniacal grin on his face. I froze for a moment as he placed his hands on my shoulders excitedly.

 

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed, the revelation making him suddenly jittery and full of energy.

 

"Sherlock-" I started, only to be silenced when he slammed his lips onto mine in a quick kiss.

 

"Sherlock there's a kid!" I shouted, pushing him off of me and gesturing to the phone just as the kid said the number two.

 

"Oh, that is brilliant. That is gorgeous," he continued, only for me to shove the phone into his hand.

 

"The Van Buren Supernova," he stated, speaking directly into the device.

 

"Please, is somebody there? Somebody help me," the child pleaded, allowing air to once again find its way into my lungs.

 

"There you go. Go and find out where he is and pick him up," Sherlock stated, handing Lestrade the phone before pointing out the painting's flaw.

 

I smiled as Sherlock began to head out and Lestrade lead the woman out who would have to be held in custody overnight. My smile grew bigger as Echo trotted after the detective, stopping him in his tracks. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but reached down to pet her nevertheless which allowed me time to catch up as John continued to contemplate the painting.

 

"That was amazing Sherlock. You saved him," I said cheerfully, placing my hands on his shoulders and rubbing gently as we stood just outside the gallery building.

 

My hands carefully worked out the tightness of the detectives shoulders and neck, causing him to relax underneath the touch and even lean into it. A rather unnerving thought came to me as we waited for a ride.

 

"Hey Sherlock," I began as we hailed a cab.

 

"Yes?"

 

"When's the last time you've eaten?"

 

His eyes narrowed as he attempted to recall, making me grow increasingly suspicious.

 

"Sherlock. Dinner. Now," I ordered, pushing him into the cab before climbing in after him with Echo leaping into my lap.

 

"Rather strange way to ask me on a date you know," he smirked, making me smack his shoulder playfully.

 

"You haven't eaten in days. You even skipped out on pancakes this morning. It's not so much a date as it is making sure you survive the next week. So, when we get home you're going to eat some damn food," I responded coldly as the cab began to move, annoyed that I had not been paying close enough attention to realize.

 

"You're disappointed," he noted quietly.

 

"Not in you," I corrected.

 

My eyes fixed on the floor of the cab as the detective shifted beside me and Echo laid down in my lap.

 

"So you can cook," he added amusedly, carefully taking my hand into his own while scanning my face for a reaction.

 

"Well enough to keep you from starving and keep the house in one piece," I replied before giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. 

 

The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable silence, my mind too overloaded to race as it normally would. When we arrived at the flat, I gave my own door a short glance of suspicion. Surprisingly, Sherlock held the door open for me and allowed me to enter before him, giving me a curious stare before closing the door behind us.

 

"Is something wrong?" he questioned, seeming sincerely confused by my attitude.

 

A feeling of guilt washed over me as I took in the appearance of the detective who was truly blinded by his sentiment. If I had been anything less to him, he would have been able to deduce the situation easily but it was apparent that his desire to trust me kept him ignorant. After a short internal struggle, I pushed back the wave of emotion with the reassurance that I was doing this for his own safety. 

 

"Nope. Go take a shower, would you? Dinner will be ready when you're out," I smiled, attempting to distract the keen man.

 

"Alright," he replied quietly, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly as though he had thought better of his next words.

 

A genuine smile graced my lips as I wrapped my arms around the detective and nuzzled my face into his neck. As we stood, I gently pushed him backwards so that his back was against the wall for support.

 

"What is it?" I asked quietly, tracing small circles on his back through his shirt as he held me close.

 

The detective only hummed lowly in response. With a coy grin on my face, I began to place feather light kisses on the vast expanse of his neck. 

 

"Sherlock, what is it?" I repeated before gently nipping at the most sensitive skin within my reach.

 

The detective let out a sharp breath of air before taking in a shaky one. Still, he did not answer. With a soft sigh, I pulled back to examine him while still rubbing his back. My hands jerked back when he flinched.

 

"You're hurt?!" I exclaimed, pulling away from him carefully.

 

"Sore mostly," he corrected, not meeting my gaze.

 

"Would you like me to help, after you shower?" I offered, watching as a small hint of embarrassment crossed his usually stoic features.

 

Sherlock gave a stiff nod, but hesitated to meet my stare and instead remained fixed on the floor. 

 

"You could have just asked," I informed, reaching for his face and pushing up onto my toes to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek.

 

The ghost of a smile reached his lips as I took his hand into my own and tugged him in the direction of the bathroom. 

 

"Go on Sherlock, you need it," I teased, carefully guiding him to the door before heading back to the kitchen.

 

My eyes scanned the kitchen carefully until falling upon a large pot as well as a smaller pan. Out of precaution, I rinsed out both thoroughly before placing them on the stove just as the sound of the shower running began. A groan escaped my lips as I realized that the spaghetti and sauce had been placed on a shelf just out of my reach. 

 

"No one ever cleans in this house so how the hell?" I hissed lowly, dragging over a chair to stand on.

 

As soon as I managed to put the chair back in its proper place, the water on the stove began to boil. In one quick motion I turned the heat down and dumped half of the box of spaghetti into the water. My mind wandered for the remainder of the process, and two full plates were in my hands by the time I was able to even remotely focus. Once the plates were set on the table, a knock on the door brought me back into reality.


	23. Old Friends

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the sight before me. Standing in the doorway was Sam Winchester, donning a flannel and covered in blood as usual.

"Christo," I said monotonously, watching for the flinch that would signify the presence of a demon.

He stood still and pulled out a bottle of holy water as well as a dagger, splashing the water on the both of us as a test before cutting a thin line on his arm to prove that he was in fact, Sam Winchester. Instinctively, I grabbed his uncut arm and dragged him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him as Echo trotted over happily to greet the guest.

"Hey," I said softly, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

The deep blue rings under his eyes spoke volumes of his current sleeping pattern, or lack of and his body screamed 'exhausted' as it swayed. I tensed in preparation, knowing if he fell I could only slow his fall as he was much to large for me to catch.

"Hey Abby," he responded, his voice nearly a croak.

"Call me Emily alright? When's the last time you slept, you look like shit!" I exclaimed, placing a hand on his cheek gently and taking in his reaction.

I watched as the rugged man relaxed at my touch, his face softening and strands of his brunette hair falling into his face as he tilted it down.

"I miss them too Sammy," I said softly, pulling him into a comforting embrace for a moment to just hold him.

He immediately returned the gesture and wrapped his arms around me as we enjoyed each other's presence for a moment before I pulled away to make up another plate of food.

"You're just in time," I smiled, gesturing to my usual seat at the table as I knew John would be at his girlfriend's house for the night.

Before he sat down, I ushered him to the sink to wash his hands and made him remove the bloody flannel, leaving him in a loose fitting grey shirt. His expression remained guarded as he noted the third plate at the table that would belong to Sherlock.

"Husband?" he questioned carefully, tensing as the sound of the bathroom door opening signaled Sherlock's entrance.

After placing the plate in front of Sam, I went to explain to the detective.

"Hey Sherlock, come with me for a second?" I asked as Echo sat beside the Winchester and placed a paw on his ridiculously long leg to beg for a taste of food.

The detective's eyes narrowed but his expression remained stoic as it normally did around people. It only took a small smile from me to convince him to walk towards his room with me.

"He's back," he noted before I could speak.

"He'll be staying at my flat for as long as necessary. I wasn't home so he came here," I informed before planting a kiss on his cheek and walking back towards the kitchen.

"Please, be nice," I added as we entered.

Sam's eyes landed on Sherlock immediately and narrowed, but his gaze softened when it reached me. I gave Sherlock's hand a small squeeze before steering him over to sit at the table and sitting down beside Sam.

"I'm sorry for not warning you I was coming," Sam said, shooting me a lopsided smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Sammy you always show up on my doorstep unannounced, and more often than not covered in blood. Don't worry about it," I laughed, thinking back to some of the most memorable times he and Dean had barged into my small apartment.

Sherlock tilted his head thoughtfully as Sam and I carried on light conversation of my role here in London as well as Sherlock's. I could only hope the detective would not deduce him as heartlessly aloud as he had to others previously.

"So you went from supernatural cases, to solving crimes?" Sam joked, prodding me in the ribs playfully.

"What can I say? You know we never quite escape the life. Besides people are so much more predictable," I replied.

"And you're a detective?" the Winchester questioned, turning to face Sherlock who had barely touched his plate and was instead watching our exchange closely.

Sherlock glanced at me curiously, as if unsure how to act towards the relatively new person.

"Yes, a consulting detective. When the police are out of their depth which is always, they consult me," he said quickly, scanning the Winchester with his cold gaze.

"He's bloody brilliant Sammy, it's a bit scary to be honest. I wasn't sure if he was human when we first met," I laughed, sending the detective a bright smile that caused his lips to upturn slightly.

"I think you're swooning," Sam teased, causing my cheeks to hit up as I flung a single noodle of spaghetti at him.

I could not hold in my laughter as Sherlock's expression turned to one of confusion and the noodle stuck to Sam's face. The Winchester went to retaliate but I held up my hand in defiance.

"You can't. You're a guest," I teased, taking the nearly empty plate of pasta from him and pausing to glare at Sherlock until he picked up his fork and began eating again.

"Thank you for dinner Abby, and thank you for letting me stay for dinner," Sam said, shocking me with his manners as he turned to Sherlock.

"Sam!? You can be polite? I never thought I'd see the day!" I cackled, wiping a fake tear from my eye before placing the dishes in the sink.

"You're going to get my flat to yourself Sam. Try not to destroy it alright?" I smiled, gesturing for him to follow me.

As he got up, Sam reached out to shake Sherlock's hand. The detective glanced at me before shaking the hunter's hand cautiously.

"I'll be right back Sherlock, I need to make sure this moose takes a shower. I don't want him stinking up my flat," I said before guiding Sam out of the flat and into my own.

Sam relaxed as soon as he saw the couch and headed towards it immediately only for me to grab him by the arm.

"No. You shower first. There's a shirt and pajama pants in my dresser that should fit you but we'll have to go buy you clothes soon. I have to make sure Sherlock doesn't explode anything so I can't stay, but call me if you need anything and come over if you want to hang out," I informed, taking advantage of the rare peace we had to hug the Winchester tightly, swinging my arms around his neck despite the huge height difference between us.

"It's good to see you Sammy. I'm glad you're here," I said softly.

A small grin crossed his features as we parted and I pointed to the bathroom.

"Shower," I ordered teasingly before heading back to 221B with a dog treat in hand.

Once sure the door to my flat was locked, I walked into Sherlock's and placed the remainder of the dishes into the dishwasher. I then tossed the treat to Echo who was waiting patiently at my side, before heading into Sherlock's room to grab clean clothes. The detective was already laying face down on the mattress when I walked in, but he sat up quickly after noticing my arrival.

"I'll change in the bathroom," I said softly, grabbing a shirt and sweats before heading towards the door.

"Why not here?"

Sherlock's baritone voice stopped me in my tracks and forced me to turn to face him as he sat up further, leaning towards me as though I was something as intriguing as one of his cases.

"You could at least turn around," I huffed, averting my gaze as I pulled my shirt up and over my head.

Bright blue eyes bore into me as I carefully unclasped my bra, deciding to put on a bit of a show. He was going to stare nevertheless, so it was only natural to give him something worth looking at. By the time I slid the clothes onto my body, Sherlock's jaw had slackened slightly and I could see the desire written across his face.

"Lay down, I'll make your back feel better," I commanded, crossing my arms over my tank top covered torso.

Sherlock seemed about to make a remark but thought better of it and instead slowly lowered himself onto the mattress, turning to lay on his stomach obediently. With a soft sigh, I set my phone on the nightstand and pulled myself onto the bed to sit beside him.

"Shirt needs to come off," I reminded, making him smirk at me in response.

"Help me," he suggested, rolling to sit up but making no movement to remove the article of clothing himself.

I rolled my eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, but carefully moved to unbutton his shirt nevertheless. My fingers skillfully disconnected the pieces of fabric before pushing the shirt off of him entirely. I felt the detective shiver slightly whenever my fingers grazed his porcelain skin and let out a chuckle.

"How am I supposed to massage you if you're this sensitive?" I teased, placing light kisses on his neck as I slowly lowered him onto the mattress.

My lips pressed against the vast expanse of his neck gently as his hands slid down my torso to rest on my waist for a moment before going lower. Moments later, I nipped at his neck to surprise him before rolling him onto his stomach while he was incapacitated.

"Dirty," Sherlock mumbled, seeming embarrassed by my trick.

"You're one to talk about 'dirty' Sherlock," I laughed, rolling up my sleeves further before beginning to slowly massage the tautness from his shoulders.


End file.
